


Marked, Maimed, Claimed

by thegirlgrey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek POV, M/M, Pack, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stiles POV, Werewolves, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 94,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlgrey/pseuds/thegirlgrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't know how he got here, how they got here, but he knows he wouldn't give it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was expecting Lasagna for lunch, not so much a broody werewolf.

Stiles is just out of his third period and is putting his chemistry books in his locker, thinking idly about the lasagna he was going to devour at lunch, when he feels a hand roughly grip his shoulder and slam him into the row of closed lockers next to his open one. It takes a few seconds for everything to click in place.

Six months. Six months since he's seen him since anyone in Beacon Hills has seen him. Six months since the big showdown that almost got everyone killed. Six months since Derek killed the Alpha, his Uncle, and then disappeared completely. Stiles had his Dad keep a line open with the other nearby stations and kept in contact with the Wildlife and Fisheries Service for questionable animal killings. Stiles kept track of several news stations and papers up and down the pacific coast, and he checked Derek's house twice a week for any signs of life.

Every week, he received no news. He was waiting for some sign of Derek even if it was all crazy Alpha-ed out. Because they would track him down, and they would bring him back. If they couldn't, then they would take him out.

 _Six months_.

Stiles wants to punch Derek. He's had it all planned out in his head. One quick right hook to the jaw and a snarky comment about buying a damn cell phone. Stiles ends up throwing his arms around a seriously confused Derek Hale and hugging him to within an inch of his life instead. Derek stands frozen in his grasp until he relaxes a little and gives Stiles two awkward pats on the back before pushing him away.

"Dude, where the _hell_ have you been!?"

Derek shrugs and takes the time to look around the deserted hall. It was everyone's lunch period. They are completely alone. Stiles would normally find that a bit creepy, but he is far too interested in Derek's answer.

"I need you, Allison, and Scott to meet me in the woods behind my place. I tried to call Scott but his phone is off."

Stiles grins, "Yeah, it better be off. Mrs. Mencha would be seriously pissed if it rang in class again. This one time, his phone went off because I had texted him, and she made him wear a sombrero and sing the macare-"

He stops talking when he sees Derek's annoyed glare. When Stiles gets excited, he rambles, but Derek seems to remember that because he rolls his eyes. Stiles grins at him again and punches his shoulder. The annoyed glare is back in full force, but Stiles ignores it.

"We can be there after practice."

Derek nods. Which is strange. Derek never compromises. 

"I've got a few things to handle mostly being a wanted fugitive. I'll meet you guys around 8."

Stiles scratches at the back of his head. Derek's eyes start to narrow.

"About that."

Derek waits silently for the teen to speak.

"You're not a wanted man anymore. Scott and I talked to my dad and made sure they found the evidence they needed to point to your uncle. Mr. Argent gave a statement. But there's a lot of stuff that they you need to fill in."

Derek remains silent because he kind of knows that Stiles isn't finished yet. At least he's not rusty, Stiles thinks.

"The bank needs you to sign a bunch of crap. Something about inherited funds?"

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose for a few moments before looking back up to Stiles.

"What about my car?"

A nervous laugh peels out of Stiles before he can stop it. He's slammed up against the lockers again with Derek crowding his personal space. They've done this tango before, but it still doesn't mean Stiles' heart isn't trying to escape from his chest via his throat.

"Impounded."

Derek lets him go and backs off after a moment and stares at him in confusion. Stiles snorts.

"We wouldn't let anything happen to that car."

Scott may not have made the connection first, but they both know that the Camaro was Laura's long before it was Derek's. Derek seems to be grateful if the tiny grin means anything, but his phone buzzes to life in his pocket. He pulls it out to scowl at it. He points at Stiles as he slips it back into his green jacket. Stiles has noticed the obvious lack of leather.

"You three in the clearing behind my house at 8 o'clock."

Stiles nods and watches as the werewolf starts to walk away. Stiles calls after him after making his mind up quickly.

"It's good to have you back, Derek."

He watches as tall, dark, and broody walks out of the double doors. Stiles slams his locker closed and darts off to the lunchroom to tell the others while mumbling to himself.

"Even if you still scare me, a teeny-tiny little bit."

He never notices Derek's tiny smirk as he exits the building and dodges the security cameras.


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not until Derek is trying to hand him the bigger ring that Stiles reacts. He throws his hands in front of him and takes a step back.
> 
> "Dude, I know you need medical, but I am so not marrying you."

By the time Stiles and Scott are driving up the winding driveway of Derek's house still sweaty from rushing there after practice, Stiles is a ball of nerves and excitement. When he asks, Scott tells him he smells like old socks and limes. Stiles brakes checks him as the pull up to the Hale house. Allison lifts her head from where she was studying her nails and rolls her eyes at their antics. Scott walks up to where she is leaning against her car, and offers her his arm. Stiles rolls his eyes at how sickeningly cute they are if only to distract himself from the fact that he's getting to be more nervous than excited. They silently make their way to the clearing a few hundred feet behind the devastated house. It's quiet, eerily quiet, in the small clearing with only the waning moon to light the dark forest.

"It would be pretty if it wasn't so creepy."

Stiles mutters under his breath only to watch his best friend pointedly roll his eyes at him. He rolls his eyes right back.  _Werewolves!_  He's about to throw a dig at him about eavesdropping when he feels something behind him. His heart almost beats out of his chest when he turns around to find Derek not five feet away.

"Jesus, you're trying to kill me already?"

Derek ignores him to nod at Allison and Scott who are smiling at the older werewolf.

"It good to see you, Derek."

He takes the time to meet their eyes one by one.

"It's good to see you too."

He looks at them in an almost fond way before startling them all by walking closer and slipping two rings off of his right hand. One is smaller, it barely fits to the second knuckle on his pinky finger, and the other ring is larger, settled tightly on his ring finger. Stiles looks at the rings curiously as he pulls them off. It's not until Derek is trying to hand him the bigger ring that Stiles reacts. He throws his hands in front of him and takes a step back.

"Dude, I know you need medical, but I am _so_ not marrying you."

Derek fixes him with a death glare as he grabs Stiles' hand and forces the ring into his palm before offering the smaller ring to Allison. She takes it but not before staring at Scott in confusion. They all look at the rings as he explains.

"Scott is a part of my pack. I'll know him no matter what. But you two, you're human. When I go Alpha, I resort to my most basic animal instincts."

Stiles nods his head rapidly turning the ring over in his fingers.

"Hunters are humans. Humans are enemies. Especially if they don't smell like pack."

Derek ignores his comment but continues.

"The rings are pure silver. It'll grab my attention. It's my-"

Stiles interrupts again something like shock written across his features.

"Family symbol."

 _The same symbol tattooed on your back_ , Stiles thinks as he slips the ring on his pointer finger. His hand forms a fist automatically. He can feel the ring settle there before he relaxes the grip to look at the symbol again.

"Yes, it's my family's mark. This ring means your family. Family means pack. It marks you for other werewolves."

Stiles focuses on Derek after that.

"What's that mean?"

Derek throws him another glare. Stiles fidgets, but holds his ground and waits for Derek to give him an answer.

"It means they'll see the symbol and know that you're a part of my pack. It's for protection."

"What is the red gem in the center?"

Derek doesn't give Allison a death glare Stiles notices. Scott answers the question with his eyebrows rising high on his forehead and his nose flaring wide.

"It's Derek's blood."

Stiles freezes because  _WHAT!?_

"Just enough to give off a scent."

Stiles stares at the tiny red dollop in the center of the swirls.

"Dude, that's kind of creepy."

Derek shakes his head.

"We rely on our sense of smell more than anything else. This way other werewolves know that you're part of my pack without going off the scent around you."

Stiles stares at him.

"Huh?"

Scott answers for him.

"They can smell me on Allison. They might not even approach her because of it but with the scent of an Alpha on her…"

Stiles frowns as it clicks in his head. Scott's scent is all over Allison, and Allison's is all over Scott. Derek could have just said it's to make sure nobody kills Stiles.

"It's for protection from other wolves... and from me."

Now, Stiles is really confused. Scott beats him to the punch again.

"Derek, what are you talking about?"

Derek shifts his weight from one foot to another, thinking, gauging them and their possible reactions. Stiles has a feeling he really isn't going to like what they are going to hear.

"The reason why I left was because I couldn't control my wolf anymore. I went to someone I know back in Seattle."

Stiles is shocked because Derek had left the same night that he had killed his uncle. He took off, and left everything behind without so much of a word to any of them.

"Derek, you split that night. We looked for you for weeks."

Derek ignores the anger wafting off of Stiles to stare at his feet in what looks like shame.

"As a Beta, I learned how to control my wolf. I was never meant to be an Alpha, not like that. I was supposed to inherit from my sister… if she didn't have a family."

They all get quiet at that. It's a subject that would always be sore for Derek, and Stiles heart went out to him because he knew how much losing someone you loved hurt. And how Laura died...

"It was too much at once. The Alpha is pure power. Everything you feel is amplified. Anger is heightened tenfold. Grief is crippling. It's the most animal I have ever been, and I couldn't control it. I wasn't going to let what my Uncle did happen again. I went to a Native Shaman. He helped me to learn how to control it."

Something he said makes Scott stiffen and in turn makes Stiles really, really nervous.

"Then what's with the rings, Derek?"

The werewolves lock gazes, and Stiles can feel his whole body tense.  _This might be bad._  He slips the black rod from his jacket sleeve and flicks his wrist to open it. He is rewarded with three metallic clicks that draw both wolves' gazes to him. Derek is staring at him over his shoulder, and if Stiles wasn't panicking, he might have seen the older werewolf's smirk before he turned back to Scott. Stiles shrugs one shoulder at Scott's utter hilarious disbelieving look.

"Precautions."

Scott steps forward and puts himself between Derek and Allison almost subconsciously. His golden eyes flashing as he turns his frowning face up to Derek.

"You don't know how to completely control it do you, Derek?"

"I wouldn't have come back if I didn't believe I could."

Whatever had been building broke as Scott lowers his head. Stiles mouths  _WOLF STUFF_  over the werewolves' heads at Allison to help calm her down. Derek throws a glare over his shoulder at him, eyes flashing an electric blue. Stiles blinks. The reading lips behind your back thing was new. 

"I asked you all to come here so I could scent you. So Stiles, put that thing away before you hurt yourself."

"Hey, crazy hunter lady used it!"

Stiles grimaces and ducks his head, "Sorry, Allison."

Scott has an arm thrown around her shoulder in support, but she shakes her head that it's okay. Allison had come to terms that her Aunt was crazy and that her family was hiding way more from her than she originally thought.

"Besides we tested it."

Derek snorts, "What do you mean we tested it?"

Stiles grins as Scott fills him in.

"Stiles has been testing out a few myths and ideas he's been having. We found a lot of useful stuff."

Derek casts a look between the two of them and then at the high-tech cattle prod.

"I leave you alone for a few months, and you jump head first into danger."

Stiles raises his finger in the air.

"Technically, it's been six months, and the only person that was in danger was Scott."

Allison rolls her eyes and adds in, "and Stiles when I tore him a new one when his experiment with AgX put Scott in the ER."

Stiles freezes as Derek's voice nearly comes out as a growl.

"Silver Halide? Are you both morons?"

Stiles open his mouth, but Derek holds up a hand and pinches the bridge of his nose with the other.

"Don't answer that."

* * *

Somehow that makes Derek feel worse at the same time that it makes him feel better.  _At least they didn't die._  That thought did not sit well with him or his wolf. He uses that bit of fear to push himself into action. He shucks off his jacket.

"Let's just get this over with. I'll scent you in my Beta form first, refresh my memory. Put some space between each other. Hold out your wrists."

They do as they were told though Scott does wearily eye Derek as he steps away from Allison. Derek rolls his neck as his inner wolf comes out as easily as it always had. His control never wavers. He takes Scott's wrist first and inhales deeply. He can smell the apprehension around him, but he chooses to ignore it. Next, he moves over to Allison. He makes sure to hold his breath and her scent longer. He will never forget it now. Stiles grins at him, but Derek can smell his nervousness as he lifts his wrist to his nose and inhales. The kid always smelt like spearmint gum, like how little kids were always just  _sticky_  all the time, but now he had a tinge to him that he couldn't quite place. He drops his wrist and takes a step back to look at his ragtag pack before him.

"I'm going to let the Alpha come out. I need to make sure I recognize your scent in that form before the full moon. I'm warning you now that you need to do exactly what I say."

His makes sure to meet all of their eyes.

"Stay as calm as you can. You're going to have to bare your throats. And Scott, you need to shift for this."

He lets that sink in and watches as Scott changes almost as easily as he does. Again, he has the split feelings. Derek can't help but to feel proud that he was mastering his wolf without him and disappointed that he wasn't there to help him. He forces the feeling away as he gathers his resolve. He feels his teeth grow sharp and his eyes grow warm.

* * *

Stiles can feel the butterflies in his stomach like little kamikaze pilots exploding inside of him. He's fighting hard not to tap his foot to ease some of the pent up energy on the leaf strewn dirt.

"Ready?"

Scott nearly chokes as Derek starts to remove his close. The older werewolf just rolls his eyes at the noise his Beta makes.

"I am not ruining my clothes because you have an issue with nudity, Scott."

And with that he unzips his jeans, and Stiles get to see a whole lot of bare skin before he averts his eyes. W _oah, commando!_

"You're not – oh,  _wow_."

Allison tilts her head up at the sky, and Stiles laughs a little at her blushing cheeks if only to draw the attention away from his own. He focuses in on Derek's bare shoulder, his very boring yet defined bare shoulder, as Scott growls. Stiles was not expecting that, at all. He easily puts two and two together. Allison must have liked what she had seen, or at least, that's what her pheromones were saying.

"Scott, calm down."

Derek waits a few minutes until Scott nods at him, now calm, before sinking to his heels in the dirt and leaves. He exhales a shaky breath that Stiles can see frost out in front of him into the cool night air. Then everything seems to shift back and away and into something else. Suddenly Derek is rocking forward, hands now covered in thick black fur that branches out over every inch of skin, his muscles bulging and growing and slotting into place and rippling into strength.

He looks more wolf in this form than Peter ever did, but he is bigger, and for lack of a better word, badder than a regular wolf. He looks dangerous and deadly, but Stiles isn't afraid. The transformation Stiles couldn't look away from was Derek eyes. They shift almost constantly from brilliant blue to devastating red and back again. It was like looking at an atom reaction in some nuclear power plant. He watches as Derek walks to where Scott is. Derek's head is nearly level with Scott's sternum.

His best friend stares down the massive Alpha, or rather stares up as Derek shifts, lifting his front paws from the ground with ease. Scott doesn't move at first. Stiles heart starts slamming around in his chest before Scott finally tips his head back in acceptance. The Alpha thrusts his face in the space made for him and inhales. He lets the breath escape noisily. Stiles watches in silent horror and curiosity as Derek opens his jaw and gives the teen a play bite. It wouldn't bruise or break the skin, but it was just enough pressure to get the point across. Derek slips back down silently and locks eyes with Scott. The growl that shakes out of his chest is clear.

 ** _I AM YOUR ALPHA_**.

Scott lowers his eyes as Derek steps passed him to Allison. She immediately lifts her head back to let Derek scent her. He nods at her as he steps away. Stiles tries to calm his racing heart as those ever changing eyes peer into his. This was too weird and Derek was too big, bigger than his Uncle if that was possible, and all wolfed out. He was having flashbacks of almost being decapitated by Peter. His body is urging him to run.

Eventually, Stiles realizes that he was staring just like Scott had. He lifts his head back sharply to expose his neck under watchful cosmic eyes. When the werewolf leans closer, Stiles can feel the heat pouring off of Derek. He is acutely aware of the hot breath that billows against his skin as the Alpha exhales. He almost panics and pushes Derek away when he places a play bite on his neck too. Luckily, Derek steps away from Stiles and begins to shift back to his human self as he walks back to where his clothes are laid on the forest floor. Stiles takes in a shaky breath before he speaks.

"I see something white and shiny. I see Derek's hiney!"

That seems to lighten the mood that had taken hold of them. Allison's laughter spills out into the quiet forest and breaks apart the too loud silence as Stiles makes his way over to Derek as he pulls on his shirt.

"What's with the nipping, man?"

Derek looks like he was going to ignore Stiles, but he turns his face up to meet his eyes as he ties his shoes.

"Alpha thing. Had to remind you that I'm the boss."

"Yeah, okay. I kind of get that, but why didn't you do it to Allison?"

He gives him a grin that Stiles doesn't know how to handle because – _fuck_ – it's sincere.

"You don't bite another wolf's girl."

Stiles stands there contemplating the weird mannerisms of werewolves in deep concentration so deep that he almost doesn't hear Derek's next question.

"What's with the police tape around my house?"

Stiles gives him what he thinks is his apologetic,  _please don't eat_   _me_  grin. The growl that rises around Derek makes Stiles rethink his facial features.

"Well, about that…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that an Alpha's eyes are supposed to be red, but I like the idea that you can see the changing colors and the struggle Derek has with his Alpha status. He has always known his "inner wolf" if you will, and now he has to relearn it all over again. He was never supposed to have this power or station. His eyes provide a contrast that he doesn't show or doesn't let show outwardly.


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dude, did you just wolf wammy my dog?"

Scott tries to calm Derek down. He can feel the anger wafting off of Derek as they follow the older werewolf as he quickly walks back toward the darkened house with its red plastic rope tape over the entrances or anywhere anyone can climb into. There's really no damage to the house. Everyone is too afraid of Derek Hale to actually vandalize it, but they looted the place.

"Some stupid kids used to sneak in and try to hold séances in the house. I used to scare them off when I knew they were there. Stiles got his dad to say it was condemned to keep them out. It's not falling apart, but the Distinct Building Inspector doesn't want you living in it until it's back up to code."

He's watching Derek carefully as he speaks. He hasn't shown any emotion since his sharp outburst of anger, well except for annoyance which is clearly surrounding him just as strongly as the anger had before.

"Where am I going to stay if I can't stay in my own house?"

Scott shares a conspiring look with Stiles, and they all watch as the annoyance on Derek's face rises. His jaw tightens in apprehension.

"We got that figured out."

Derek, not liking the grin Stiles is sporting, turns back to Scott. The look Derek gives Scott says that he is going to kill him. Scott shrugs helplessly. He's not as shocked by Derek's angry murderface as he used to be, mostly because there's no heat behind it. Stiles rushes to explain and put an end to the menacing glaring.

"See, Scott's mom has been wanting to rent out the apartment over their garage. It needs a little work but it's got a bathroom, kitchen, and a bed. Everything a growing Alpha needs, well except cable."

Derek crosses his arms over his chest.

"And how did you two manage that, exactly?"

Allison laughs as she rests a hand gently on Derek's forearm. 

"That's so sweet, thinking they did all the work."

He cocks his head to the side as she makes her way to lean into Scott for warmth. Scott knows he's grinning dopily at her, but Allison really was the one to put their little scheme into action. Scott was to obvious and Stiles was too tactless. They both know their weakness and when to admit defeat. So they told Allison what they wanted to do, and she handled the rest. Scott pulls Allison closer before he looks back to Derek. He is watching them very closely. 

"She said if you help her out with stuff around the house she won't mind you joining us for dinner when her schedule isn't crazy."

He grins happily at Derek. He plans on making him do all the crappy chores like cleaning out the gutters. Allison must notice his too pleased smile and elbows him in the ribs gently. Derek now looks a little concerned. 

Stiles clears his throat roughly and jerks a thumb at himself.

"I'd offer the guest room at my house, but I don't think that you'd want to live with the Sheriff after everything that's happened."

* * *

Derek looks at all of them. There's a lot of emotions rolling around inside of him. He tries to ignore the gratitude and the more tender emotions, and he tries his hardest to ignore the Alpha rumbling in approval of his pack.

"I don't know what to say."

Stiles gives him something that looks like half grin, half grimace and Derek knows, just knows, that the next words out of his mouth are going to piss him off.

"Don't start thanking us yet. They didn't just loot your furniture. They looted your clothes too."

It's upsetting to hear but clothes can be replaced, and he had to buy new ones when he left. He just didn't happen to have more than a few shirts and two pairs of jeans. The full Alpha shift happened more than he wanted it too. The clothes he had would have to hold out until he got around to buying new clothes. He toyed with the idea on tracking the looters down by scent and taking back everything they stole. His little revenge filled daydream is cut short by Stiles' smile and excited eyes.

"And I have the best idea!"

That one sentence struck more fear into Derek than facing his Uncle did. And that is saying something.

* * *

"Why did I agree to this again?"

Stiles is grinning ear to ear as he hops out of his jeep and onto the cement of his driveway as Derek sits on his parked bike staring up at the Sheriff's darkened house. Derek is more than likely thinking that it was a good thing that he took up the McCall's offer about staying in the garage apartment. Stiles takes a second to look at the bike Derek sat on. It was a sleek black and chrome Harley Davidson Blackline. He had enough time to google it at stop lights on his way home.

"Because you're too cheap to buy a whole new wardrobe but apparently not a bike?"

He's talking while walking backwards up his driveway so he can see Derek's expression and is rewarded for his actions by Derek's annoyed frown.

"It's been mine for awhile. I left it in Seattle."

Stiles feels like there is a lot being let unsaid in that sentence. Usually, he would pry until he got an answer that satisfied him, but Derek just got back. And Stiles life was already threatened at least once, so he was going to let it go for now. Stiles is so lost in his thoughts that when Derek's wraps a hand around his forearm and jerks him to a stop right outside his front door he nearly falls over. He watches as Derek's nose twitches, actually twitches, in the cool night air.

"You have a dog?"

Stiles almost laughs. Instead, he gives Derek a confused look because that's something Scott never had a problem with.

"He's a retired police dog. His hip was broken during a bust, and he needed someone to look after him. My dad brought him home, and I got him back on all fours. I kinda never gave him back for adoption, and my dad never brought it up."

Stiles shrugs his shoulders as Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles ignores the eye roll in favor of walking to his front door. He barely has the door open when the German Shepherd comes flying out. Stiles shouts his name and the command to stop, but the dog is already in front of Derek, teeth barred, a low growl rumbling out into the night. Stiles stands there helpless as Derek slowly crouches down in front of the dog and growls right back. His eyes flash that supernatural blue-red. Stiles' jaw drops as Orion rolls over for a belly rub, which Derek happily supplies, before letting the dog sit back up and giving him a hard scratch behind the ears. Derek grins, two grins, plural grins, Stiles thinks as Derek walks past him and into the house with Orion right on his heels. Stiles has no choice but to follow. He tries to run through the past few minutes in his brain. When he can't make any sense of it, he says the first thing that pops into his brain.

"Dude, did you just wolf wammy my dog?"

Derek gives him a blank stare and a shrug.

"He needed to learn that you were a part of my pack long before he became a part of yours."

"What?"

Stiles freezes as the words finally sink in, but Derek is already walking away with Orion following with his tail wagging in delight. Stiles ignores his dog's betrayal by flinging himself into his favorite chair in the living room. He can't help but to frown as how his own dog lays down at Derek's feet as he sinks into the sofa.

"Was that the werewolf equivalent of you marking your territory? Wait, did you just tell my dog that I'm your territory? Cause I'm not just some ratty old leather boot you two can fight over. Scott doesn't treat me like an old chew toy. Should I know anything else about this pack thing? Do I need to register you two for tags? Should I worry about getting a flea col- Oh god, are you going to pee on me! Derek are you going to pee on me!"

"Stiles!"

He cringes and sits back in his chair. After a few minutes of silence, Derek's speaks again looking directly at him in confusion.

"Where do you even come up with half the stuff that falls out of your mouth?"

Stiles shrugs, "God given talent."

He watches as Derek rolls his eyes but reaches down to rub the German Sheppard's head before standing and looking at Stiles.

"You said you had something for me?"

Stiles nearly trips out of his chair to get up. It is part nervousness because he's not used to Derek being around anymore, wasn't really used to him before, and a little bit of excitement because he's back. He leads the way to the basement and explains as they make their way down the stairs.

"Most of the important stuff wasn't actually looted. It was taken as evidence and then stolen. Some of those cops have sticky fingers. I tried to talk to my dad about it, but he says he has more important things to worry about than the effects of a criminal that-"

Stiles's rant tapers off as he takes in the annoyed look on Derek's face.

"Anywaaaay, Scott and I saved as much as we could. My dad made sure that the Camero stayed in the impound lot. I do not want to know how much that is going to cost you to get out by the way."

Derek peers into one of the half a dozen boxes in the teen's basement. It is filled with picture albums, books, and a few articles that he had taped on the wall of his old room. He didn't really fault the police for targeting him. Normal people don't have walls of information and pictures and snapshots of crime scenes thumb tacked to the walls of their bedroom. It was just really annoying that they did.

"Fortunately, a lot of the stuff that got lifted was your clothes because of the name brands, and my mom kept a lot of my dad's old stuff. She thought I would fit into them one day. But I took after her I guess."

The werewolf glances up to see a small sad smile on the boy's face. Then Stiles is digging through a big tupperware bin and handing him whatever he can grab.

"You're about the same size. He said you could take whatever you wanted. Said it's the least he could do for you."

It's not until Derek is actually looking through the stuff piled in his arms that he speaks.

"Stiles, how much does your dad know?"

He watches as Stiles goes a few shades paler than his normal skin tone. His heartbeat is accelerating, and his pupils are expanding in the dimly lit basement.

"Can we move this to the living, so I won't die in my dingy basement? On second thought, can you just kill me in the woods so my dad doesn't have to see my lifeless body?"

Derek groans as he slams the container shut. He picks up an old soccer bag and start shoving a few pairs of pants and shirts into it.

"Can't you ever just shut the hell up?"

Stiles gives a whole body flail. That's the only way Derek could describe it.

"Have you even met me?"

Derek turns away from him and focuses on getting himself upstairs, so he could change out of his clothes and stay away from the teen that he really wants to punch. He slams Stiles' bedroom door in his face.

* * *

Stiles blinks at the door. 

"Yeah, sure. No problem, just take over my room. It's not private or anything."

He's just about to turn around and head back downstairs when Derek speaks again.

"Why didn't he tell me at the station today?"

Stiles can hear Derek's voice even if it is slightly muffled by the door. He leans into the wall next to it with crossed arms. 

"Yeah, okay. In a station full of people, you wanted him to out you for being big, bad, and furry. _"So are you willing to testify that your Uncle killed these people? Also, how's being the new Alpha treating you? You get fur balls often? The urge to kill strong?"_ That would have ended well for both of you."

He can hear something like shoes dropping to the floor.

"We were alone for a while."

Stiles shakes his head and realizes that Derek could do a lot of things that a normal human couldn't do but seeing through walls is not one of them.

"So you could freak out on him in the middle of a police station?"

Stiles doesn't hear much of anything until Derek opens the door, and he steps out of Stiles's room in an old plaid shirt and dark wash jeans. The clothes had been in a box for years and yet they still looked newer and cleaner than the ones Derek had been wearing. Stiles wants to ask him where he had been staying and what he had been doing while he was away, but Derek's voice cuts across his thoughts.

"You should have told me sooner."

He shrugs and leads them down the stairs, "I had, we had a lot of stuff to tell you. You've been gone for a while."

* * *

He notices how Stiles avoids looking at him. He notices how he deliberately turns his back on him. It's something that speaks louder than words to Derek possibly even louder than the sharp sting of anger that drifts away from the teen in slow, small tendrils. Derek follows Stiles down the stairs and ignores his blatant disrespect because it's more amusing than anything. Derek's patting Orion down, scratching at the big dog's ears, when Stiles remembers something. Derek can read it in his body language. Stiles suddenly pulls himself to his full height, and he is already turning to head to the kitchen before he realizes what he's even doing. Derek forces the thought that it's good to see something so familiar away.

"Wait right there."

Derek waits in the entryway to the house. Stiles comes back with a leather jacket clutched in his hand; Derek's leather jacket clutched in his hand.

"I wasn't sure that you were coming back. I mean, I wouldn't blame you for getting as far away from this town as possible. There aren't many good memories for you here. But I knew that if you did come back then you'd kill me for letting someone take it. I might have borrowed it once or twice because I don't have a winter coat. Werewolves kept trying to maul me while I was in them."

Derek gives him a stern glare that Stiles is finally starting to remember means _shut up_. He ignores Stiles as he slips the jacket on over his borrowed clothes. He rolls his shoulders to test out the fit before nodding goodbye at Stiles. He lifts the strap of the old soccer bag across his chest and steps out onto the porch. It's not until he's outside and standing in the cold clean air that he realizes that Stiles was lying to him. The undershirt that he took from Stiles' room was clean. He could still smell the detergent and just a trace amount of the teen's lingering scent. Everything in the house permeated Stiles and his dad's scent. That was normal. And normal would be a residual trace of that scent on his jacket … it shouldn't smell like Stiles was standing right next to him. It was worn way more than a few times. Derek was slightly annoyed but much more intrigued. He was pulled from his sudden discovery by Stiles' mocking voice.

" _Oh, Stiles you are such a kick ass friend for saving all my shit and offering up your home to me even though I've threaten to kill you at least twice a week since we've met_. No problem Derek, what are friends for?"

He turns around and levels him with a glare through the glass door that makes Stiles back. He starts to walk to where he left his bike parked in the driveway, but throws a thank you over his shoulder. Before he starts the Harley, he hears Stiles mutter something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _get a freaking helmet_. Derek can't help but grin.


	4. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek doesn't snoop. Well, not really. Snooping is digging through stuff. Derek just... looks.

Derek doesn't snoop. Well not really. Snooping is digging through stuff. Derek just... looks. So whenever he's in Scott's room, he isn't snooping on the younger werewolf. He's just looking at all his stuff; his half finished homework, dirty socks, and the lacrosse equipment scattered here and there. The same old stuff Derek usually had littering the floor of his room when he was in highschool. Now what he finds is something very interesting. Someone's started to tack pictures along the wall above Scott's desk. He says someone because the tacks are fluorescent pinks, greens, and blues. Not Scott's style but definitely his girlfriend's. The thing with these pictures is that there are quite a few of them ranging from when Scott was a kid to about two weeks ago at the state fair if the orange date at the bottom of it is accurate. The thing he finds the most interesting though are the five pictures dated during the six months that he was gone. In the earliest picture, it's Scott, Allison, Stiles, and that cute, vindictive little redhead Lydia.

They all look happy, except Lydia who looks annoyed. Derek can't recall if he's ever seen her be anything else. The next picture looks like some kind of school function. There are other kids in the background. But Lydia is nowhere to be found. Scott has his arms around Allison, and Stiles is standing next to him a grim smile on his face. In the next picture, this time at a party if the red solo cups have anything to say about it, is when his jacket makes an appearance. Once again, Allison is snuggled close to Scott, but Stiles is off to the side looking away from the camera with a cup to his lips. In the next picture, it's just Stiles and Scott. Scott's grinning at the camera, and Stiles has a forced smile on making what Derek can only assume is wolf ears made by hooking his pointer fingers above his friend's head. He assumes Allison took it. It's kind of fuzzy, but he thinks Scott's mentioned something about her and cameras once. But that isn't important.

He leans closer to stare at the picture a little harder. Scott isn't wearing a jacket just a long sleeved t-shirt. The guy that is photo bombing in the background is wearing the same. But Stiles is wearing his leather jacket. And he looks a little bit fuller in this picture like he's put on some weight. Derek glances back to the last picture and pulls up his memories of the kid. The cuffs of Derek's jacket aren't completely covering up his fingers anymore. Now you can see them up until the first knuckle. He's gotten a little taller. From the hug they shared that morning, Stiles is more solid, and his shoulders are a little more defined than what they once were. Derek notices that in the last picture Stiles isn't present at all.

"That's interesting."

Derek manages to make it out of Scott's room before he gets caught. The teen would smell him, but Derek has bigger problems to worry about. Like Scott's mom, Melissa, plowing through the back door with her arms laden with groceries. Derek stands frozen at the foot of the stairs as she barks a question at him.

"Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help?"

He easily takes the massive load of bags from her and helps her drag the rest in from the car.

"Does Scott really eat this much?"

She laughs as she puts the eggs and milk in the fridge. It sounds full and warm.

"He eats like a teenager, but I was told that the garage was officially rented out."

Derek bites his lip in annoyance. He was more than capable of handling his own business, but he is kind of happy he didn't have to drop by the hospital to talk to her. He really hates the hospital. There's nothing but bad memories there.

"I didn't know what you liked to eat, so I got a little of everything."

That pulls Derek out of his thoughts.

"Mrs. McCall, I wasn't expecting you to cook for me."

She tosses him a plastic bag of apples as she frowns at him. She does the disappointed mom look very well. Derek swallows his feelings down.

"First things first? I am not Mrs. McCall. That's Scott's grandmother, and I'm not ma'am. I'm Melissa. And who said I was cooking for you?"

The shock in his head must have read on his face because she laughs at him again as she puts cans away.

"When I'm not working nights, I usually cook and, you are more than welcome to join us. There isn't much of a kitchen in the garage apartment. Besides, getting a home cooked meal into you is the least I can do after what you've done for Scott."

That dumbfounded look must have been back in full force because Mrs. McCall rests her hand on his forearm gently. He ignores the memory of his own mother comforting him that way.

"Scott was struggling before he met you. He didn't have a role model, and I could never fill the hole his dad left. But you, he looked up to you. Whatever you did, it changed him. His grades are better, he's never played this good before, and he's happier. Being a wrongfully accused murderer aside, you had a lot to do with that Derek. When you left, I thought he would lose himself, but he only grew more determined. He said you would come back."

She smiles at him. It's a sad, small thing.

"I didn't believe you would, but Scott was just so sure. So was Stiles and Allison. Then when your house was condemned, I thought the least I could offer you was a roof over your head and a place to get back on your feet when you came back. But trust me; having you here is for selfish reasons. Scott, he needs you in his life. I can't give him what you can... and the gutters need to be cleaned and the front porch railing needs to be fixed."

He laughs because that's all he can do as he tries to digest this information and gratitude. She hands him a stick of deodorant and a roll of wrapping tape for a lacrosse stick.

"Do you mind running this up to Scott's room for me?"

He nods eager to have an excuse to track his scent through the boy's room. As he makes his way out of the homey kitchen, he finds himself stopping short and looking back at her.

"For what it's worth, you're an amazing mom. You're the one that got them there. I only pushed him the rest of the way."

He heads up the stairs before she can argue and drops the stuff in Scott's room before heading back down to tell Melissa goodnight and head out to the garage apartment. He flips on the bedside lamp and pulls the dust cover off of the mattress. He sinks down to pull his boots off and to look around the room. Like Stiles promised, it is sparse. A built in countertop runs the length of the wall opposite of the closed staircase. A small refrigerator and an old gas stove bookend the counter space that holds a microwave, a coffee maker, a sink, and cabinets for storage.

There was a small, well used coffee table in the living room area, and the McCall's old sofa is placed at an angle to clearly separate the living room from the bedroom area. The McCall's had gotten a new one while he was away. The back of the sofa is to his bed which was an old queen sized mattress that had seen better days. Derek turns his head toward the door that leads to the private bathroom and closet that he had checked out earlier. It had a decent shower and all the essentials, and it wasn't as matchbook small as he had thought it would be. The apartment had an open, and it made it seem roomier. Whoever built the house and the garage knew what they were doing.

The small space hasn't felt confining to Derek when he first let himself in. It only felt homey and comforting. As far the apartment went, Derek had stayed in much worse; his half burnt house being one of them. He sighed and ran a hand over his face before tugging off his shirt and heading over to the couch. He inhaled and the scent of Scott and his mom, of Allison and Stiles, fills his senses. It helps to ground him. He tries to clear his head as he stretches out on the couch. He has a lot to do tomorrow.

* * *

Stiles comes home from school and nearly has a heart attack when he finds Derek using his computer to look up something. He idly clicks on a website as Stiles tries to regain his breathing. He ends up pulling himself together and calmly telling Derek to hurry up because he has homework to do. Derek nods, much to Stiles's surprise, and begins exiting out of the windows. Stiles snorts as Derek takes his time to delete his browsing history. He wants to make a crack about no more porn, but he decides against it before shoving his binder on the desk and filling in the seat the Derek just vacated.

"So when did you get a tattoo?"

Stiles drops the books he was trying to balance on top of his laptop with a thud. He knows he is staring up at Derek with a deer in the headlights expression.

"How did you know that?"

When Derek offers no answer, Stiles leans back in his chair and stage whispers in a horror that may or may not be fake.

"Are you _peeping_ on me!"

Derek frowns at him but taps his nose. Stiles pulls a face and shakes his head incredulously as if to say _so what_?

"Scott didn't smell it."

"Scott's not an Alpha."

Derek watches him as he puts his laptop down to walk over to the bookshelf to tuck his books away. He can feel Derek watching. It feels like a weight on him. It isn't a bad feeling, but Stiles doesn't exactly want to dissect why he wants to categorise it as comforting.

* * *

Derek watches as Stiles runs a hand through his longer hair. It's the same nervous tick that Derek had memorized back when Stiles kept his hair buzzed close to his scalp.

"About four months back. The anniversary of my mom's death."

Derek notices that Stiles doesn't broach the topic of his mother near his father, and if he does, he never mentions her death. But when he does speak of her to anyone else, he never says passed or moved on. He always says that she is dead. Derek understands why. Dead means that they aren't coming back. Not that they passed on a dinner invitation or moved on to Hawaii. Dead means dead. Derek nods silently. He asks something else that had been bothering him something he spotted in a picture in Scott's room.

"You're first line now."

A confused head tilt is all that answers him before Stiles nods.

"Danny broke his arm a few weeks after you left. It involved pudding and stairs and a party at Jackson's."

The rise of his heart beat tells Derek more than the look of shame written on the Stiles' face. He had something to do with it. Before he could ask Stiles, he throws up his hand in a don't ask motion.

"You really don't want to know. So his goalie position opened up, and he made me promise to try out for it. Even though I knew that it was the painkillers talking, I told him yes."

The smile that breaks out of his face is sudden and unexpected and, Derek realizes with a start, so good to see.

"Jackson was _pissed_ , and so was Coach, kinda. He had never let me try for the position before because I was such a shit midfielder. Apparently, I was "made for the position". It works with my ADHD. The ball's moving fast enough and constantly enough for me to keep up with. And apparently you, Scott, and your Uncle scaring the crap out of me helped heightened my reflexes."

Stiles shrugs at the last part like it's no big deal. Derek ignores the twinge of regret that sneaks up on him. Stiles would still be a normal kid if it wasn't for him and so would Scott. He clamps that thought and that feeling down. He can't change the past. Instead, Derek nods his head in the direction of the bookshelf which housed nothing but a few books and dvds before he left. Now it's overflowing with books, and Stiles had finally gotten a dvd tower.

"You really did throw yourself into research while I was away."

Stiles shrugs again, but this time he rubs the back of his neck roughly. Nervous tick #2.

"We needed answers."

He looks Derek dead in the eye as he says the last part. His voice is hard; his expression is harder. Derek cannot help but to realize again just how much Stiles had changed in just a few months.

"You were nowhere to be found. We were on our own. I did what I had to do."

Derek can hear the second meaning behind the words.  _You abandoned use when we needed you_. He can practically taste the anger in Stiles' words and the heat behind them, but he chooses to ignore it. He deserves the anger. Instead, he leans back in the chair he has occupied in the corner of Stiles' room.

"So, what exactly were these experiments?"

Stiles grins, but it looks forced.

"I've always loved show and tell."

They make their way to the big shed behind the Stilinski's house. Derek shouldn't have been surprised to find out what Stiles had concocted. He really shouldn't. But he is, and he is also kind of proud of him. Only Stiles would think of a paintball gun filled with wolfsbane injected paintballs. Derek tries not to laugh at how ridiculous the wolfsbane grenade was, but after Stiles shows him a video of it in action on his phone exploding into one of the training dummies from the lacrosse team, he has to admit that it would be useful to incapacitate another werewolf long enough for Stiles or Allison to get out of there.

"And you used Scott as a test subject."

It wasn't a question or an angry statement, so Stiles lets his excited grin break out over his face. 

"No werewolves were harmed or seriously maimed during these experiments."

For his part, Derek tries to keep his anger under control. He tries to tell himself that Stiles didn't know any better, and Derek wasn't exactly there to teach Scott any better either. His own guilt helps to keep him calm as he asks his next question.

"Let me see what you did with the AgX."

Stiles goes completely still. Derek can see his Adam's apple bob up and down violently as he swallows nervously before he leads Derek to the back of the old shed and pulls up a secret door hidden in the floorboards. He lifts away a matt soaked with gardening lime, enough to screw up even his Alpha nose, and lifts out what looks like a tranquilizer gun, four more grenades, and four pepper spray bottles. Derek shakes his head roughly to try to dislodge the sting of the silver halide in his senses. He breathes through his mouth instead. It's easier to ignore the tingle in his throat than the burn in his nose. He picks up one of the guns as Stiles shuffles his feet next to him.

"I kind of borrowed it from the Sheriff's office. I can't believe they haven't noticed it was missing."

Derek ignores him to open the chamber to see a clear dart filled with silver metallic liquid. He glances at the grenade and points to the black leather pepper spray holsters. Stiles nods.

"Filled with it."

"Where did you even get this stuff?"

The teen plunks one of the extra magazines, "Ebay."

Derek fights away the need to ask how Stiles learned to do this, how to refill pepper spray cans, how he even thought of using silver halide, but he'd rather not know. He puts the gun back down and lifts up one of the black leather cases. From the weight and the permeating smell, Derek knows how dangerous it is.

"It's enough to blind a werewolf if you get a clear shot. Any skin contact, and they'd be down for a while."

* * *

Stiles shakes his head in the affirmative. He knows it all too well from his experiment with Scott. It's why he has it hidden and limed in his shed. He's not proud of what he did, but he'd rather be safe than sorry if another batshit Alpha showed up or worse; if a batshit Derek showed up. He helps put the weapons back and recovers them all. They walk in silence back to the house and into the kitchen. Stiles catches Derek rubbing a hand at his throat out of the corner of his eye. He digs up a bottle of water from the fridge and hands it to him.

"It helps with the burn."

Stiles is acutely aware that Derek is following him to his bedroom. He chooses not to comment on it as he slumps back into his desk chair to start on his homework. Derek's voice pulls his attention away.

"The flowers on her grave... they were the same flowers on your mom's."

Derek must have visited the grave in the Hale family plot earlier in the morning after speaking to the Sheriff again about his impounded car. Stiles knows that his dad would have told Derek about Scott and Stiles wanting to lay Laura to rest with the rest of her family. The Sheriff had personally seen to the excavation of her old grave and her being buried in her new one in the cemetery. He took care to bury her with wolfsbane to keep her in her human form. Derek would have noticed the same flowers on another white marble grave as he walked out of the cemetery. He was always observant.

Now, biology seems like an immensely interesting topic, and Stiles has a fleeting thought that he should just ignore the statement if only to not let Derek see the shock on his face. But Stiles turns to face him. He opens and shuts his mouth as words tumble around in his head. The  _after you left_  almost leaves his mouth before he catches himself with a deep breath.

"After she was moved into the cemetery, nobody bothered to visit. There were always flowers on her grave in the woods. It just felt wrong, her not having any. Besides, I don't think my mom would mind sharing. She was like that."

He watches as something in Derek's face changes like a shadow passing over it. He nods his head slowly, once, almost in acknowledgement of Stiles's loss and his pain.

"She sounds like she was a great mom."

Stiles smiles slowly ignoring the memories that crop up in his head and the tears that still want to make his vision go a little watery.

"She was an awesome mom."

The werewolf lingers for a second, watching him again, his nose twitching, before he turns and ducks out of the window. Stiles recovers enough to yell after him.

"NEXT TIME, USE THE FREAKING DOOR!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we all know that werewolves' kryptonite is wolfsbane (and mountain ash... that I really didn't know much about because I started writing this at the end of season 1). But Stiles is smart, and he would have figured out something else. So I started playing around with what I remembered about chemistry, what Stiles could get his hands on and actually get away with, and ran into a memory of silver nitrate. It's used a lot in labs to highlight and stain certain particles, so they become more visible when watching for reactions. It was also used to develop film (which comes into play with quite a few werewolf/vampire myths). Silver nitrate also stains the crap out of skin when it comes into contact with it.
> 
> Humans don't have reactions to wolfsbane... and everyone thought werewolves had reactions to silver, so what if the silver Nitrate didn't stain them as it did to humans but burned them like acid? When silver nitrate is made it creates a sub-compound that is called silver halide otherwise known as AgX. It's also used mostly in photograph development because of it's high light sensitivity. It's more potent because it is more refined than silver nitrate.
> 
> So in theory (or at least in my head), silver halide aka AgX is more refined and more potent than its mother compound. It's just as easy to get on Ebay/Amazon with no suspicions being raised, especially if Stiles throws in an offhand comment about it being for his friend Allison who's into photography. It's also easily water soluble. If there's any friendly fire, Stiles just needs to find a source of H2O, and they'll be good to frolic off into the forest once again. I also liked that it played into the Silver myth. Sue me for liking continuing mythologies even if they are canonically incorrect, alright?
> 
> There! A long forgotten explanation about the magical and mythical AgX!


	5. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's weird to walk into your kitchen to find Derek Hale helping himself to a cup of coffee. It's even weirder when he's your Alpha.

It's weird to walk into your kitchen to find Derek Hale helping himself to a cup of coffee. It's even weirder when he's your Alpha. Scott manages to only pause as he recognizes this. He reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a package of pop tarts. Derek catches him before he darts back upstairs to get ready for school.

"There's a pack meeting in my apartment tonight after lacrosse."

He nods and tries to keep this as un-awkward as possible.

"Yeah, I'll tell Allison and Stiles."

They share a heavy silence. Scott shifts from one foot to another and scratches at his head.

"So, would now be a good time to tell you that I don't usually walk around half naked in the mornings."

Derek just takes his coffee and ignores the teen wearing only a fluffy blue towel around his waist.

"It's your house."

Scott stares at his back headed toward the garage door and groans.

"This isn't going to be weird,  _at all_."

* * *

He really doesn't expect the rap on the open door not after all the times he's just barged into Stiles's room with no warning and no permission. He looks up briefly from what he's doing by the sink to acknowledge the teen.

"You're early."

Derek notices that his short cropped hair is still damp and that his shirt is wet around the collar. He hears Stiles put the plastic bags filled with cartons of take out, Chinese from the smell of it, on the coffee table as Derek puts away some plates that Mrs. McCall had dug up from the basement. He catches Stiles' shrug out of the corner of his eye as he starts to remove the cartons and place them on the coffee table.

"Mr. Argent isn't too happy to have an Alpha back in town. Mrs. Argent isn't too happy that her daughter is friends with said Alpha."

Derek understands that Scott and Allison might be late. He hasn't forgotten that Stiles has trouble getting to the point. He hasn't forgotten, but it still kind of annoys him. He hopes Stiles will let him finish putting away his stuff away in peace, but Stiles has never just let a quiet moment live. He starts to talk again as he makes himself at home on the couch.

"How much did it cost you to get the Camaro out?"

He noticed the car parked out front, of course. The kid can't sit still for more than a minute at a time but he isn't stupid.

"A few grand, but your dad helped knock it down some."

Stiles stiffens a little at that and swallows nervously as he breaks apart chopsticks. Derek notices that he won't look at him. Derek can pick up his anxiety from across the small room.

"So, I assume you've talk to him about the whole werewolf thing."

Derek can say that as far as law enforcement officers go Mr. Stilinski is a no bullshit Sheriff. He sticks to the law and, unlike his son, gets right to the point. He's a good man; one that cares about his family and the community he protects. They covered the basics, how the fire really happened, why his family was murdered, how he became the Alpha, how his son and his best friend and his best friend's girlfriend got involved. They talked about Lydia and the Argents. He didn't want to get into the politics of it, not the hunters' or the werewolves', and he didn't need all the details. As long as the hunters kept to their code and the wolves kept to theirs, the Sheriff had no problem with them living in the same town.

He seemed to be fine with the fact that being in Derek's pack meant protection for Stiles and his friends. He trusted Derek even with his past transgressions (mostly because of his son playing a huge part in those transgressions). But Derek would have to excuse the Sheriff if that trust was a little lax on and around the full moon. Derek pulls himself away from the kitchen counter and walks the short distance to the small living room area to sit in the arm chair that was in relatively new condition and questionably acquired. At least that's what Stiles' expression is telling him. He sniffs out a carton of Mongolian beef as Stiles stares at him questioningly with eyebrows raised. Derek rolls his eyes.

"We have an understanding. He assures me that the barrel of his shotgun is the last thing I will see if anything like what happened a half a year ago ever happens again."

Stiles' hand stops with a chopstick full of noodles halfway to his mouth to look at Derek to gage his reaction. He has to scramble to catch the noodles that almost fall into his lap.

"Soooooo, you're fixing up your house?'

He frowns at the teen.

"How do you know that?"

Stiles shrugs as he munches on an eggroll with a knowing grin.

"I have eyes and ears on everything that happens in this town."

Derek doubts that, but he knows what Stiles is capable of. He knows how to dig up dirt. Derek usually exploits that fact and uses it to his advantage. He just doesn't seem to have the same enjoyment now not when Stiles is digging up dirt on him.

"The insurance policy that my Uncle had was defaulted to me. Combined with the rest of the insurance money from the fire and my sister… I might as well put it to good use."

"So does that mean you're staying permanently?"

The door cuts off whatever conversation they were having as Scott laughs pulling Allison in behind him.

"Your mom's face was priceless."

"She didn't expect my dad to let me go. Neither did I."

Scott hugs her to his side as he waves to Derek and Stiles. They fall into the couch between next to Stiles.

"When your dad isn't trying to kill things, he's a pretty nice guy. But your mom? Wicked scary."

Allison smacks Stiles' shoulder, and Scott cuffs the back of his head. Derek huffs into his food as he nods at them in welcome.

"Glad he let you come over."

Scott senses the annoyance of his Alpha. He frowns at him.

"Would there be a problem if he didn't let her come?"

Derek shrugs, "she is pack. She has a right to be here, but he father is still her father. If he kept her against her will or never let her come to a meeting, we would have had an issue."

He watches as Scott turns to glance at Allison who nervously hunches her shoulders and gives him a pointed look. Stiles catches it and leans closer as his best friend starts to talk.

"He kind of wants to talk to you. Mr. Argent I mean."

Derek can sense the anxiety pouring off of Allison. Stiles throws an arm over her shoulders and jostles her playfully as Scott takes her hand. Derek nods.

"We need to straighten some things out. But that's between me and him."

Stiles jumps right in with disbelief written across his pale features.

"Yeah, because that always goes so well. We do this all together or not at all."

He watches them for a second. Stiles has that hard, determined glint to his eyes. Scott is frowning at him, and Allison still looks anxious and smells anxious but is watching him with hopeful eyes. Derek knows that they would just annoy him until he agrees, and  if he didn't agree, they would find some way to crash the meeting anyway. He knows it without a doubt. He grimaces.

" _Fine_."

"I'll arrange it."

Derek tilts his head at Scott. Normally, the boy avoided contact with Allison's father like the plague. At least that's what he did before. It's strange to see him assert himself.

"So why are we here anyway?"

He can feel Allison's relief pouring off of her in swells at Stiles' change in topic. She gives him a gentle smile. It reminds him of Laura before the fire. He pushes the thought away and focuses on the now. He is pleased to see both Allison and Stiles wearing their signet rings. They all seem happy, content. It calms him, but it does nothing for the sudden bite of nervous anticipation he feels. They have a lot to talk about. He begins with what happened after he left Beacon Hills.

"Lydia found me when I went to Seattle."

There's a mix of emotions. It's easy to pick them apart. Disbelief and hurt from Scott, confusion and understanding from Allison, anger and disappointment from Stiles… which is interesting.

"She will always be connected to me, this pack in some way. Whether she turns in a year from now or never at all, she will be welcome here."

Stiles nods his head and uses his chopsticks to making a rolling motion. Still impatient as ever. Allison giggles, and Scott rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. But what do you mean if she turns? From what I researched, she is one of the few people who don't turn after being bitten. I mean if I knew she could turn, we would have tried to keep her here with us in Beacon Hills."

Derek has to take a minute to understand this because there is anger in his scent. It's that same sharp and bitter flavor as before even if the teen is trying not to show it. Derek writes it off as Stiles still having a thing for Lydia and being pissed off that she left town without telling him.

"Someone in her family line carried the gene. It either got genetically weaker over time and the genes were recessed or the lycanthropy gene was killed off in her line, but she was still left with faint carrier genes. She was in the hospital so long because her body was adjusting from the cell up. Some are lucky and can carry the gene their whole lives and it never takes root, others… aren't."

Allison has Scott's hand pulled in her lap and is playing with his fingers as she speaks to him.

"So that's what you meant when you kept telling me that she didn't smell different, just new?"

He nods solemnly and turns to Derek still turning the information over in his head.

"She smelt like she always did, but there was something I couldn't put my finger on, something new about her scent."

Stiles jumps in now with brown eyes shining with understanding. The change in attitude is abrupt and hardly unwelcomed, but Derek can admit that he hasn't missed that look. That was the same look that almost got Stiles killed or maimed on more than one occasion, that got them all almost killed or maimed on more than one occasion.

"So that's why we couldn't tell she was a werewolf because she always carried the genes, and you were used to it!"

Stiles smacks his best friend's shoulder with the flat of his hand, but his triumph is shortly lived as Derek levels him with a glare. Turning isn't something he should be so happy about. It helps Derek's annoyance to watch Stiles's cheery mood deflate as he sinks back into the couch.

"How can we tell if she does change?"

He looks over to Allison to catch her watching Stiles in a quick sideways glance. He ignores her to play with his ring. The observation is curious, but Derek lets it slide to look down at his hands and tries to think of the best way to explain it. When he can't come up with anything that will make sense to his human packmates, he shrugs his shoulders.

"I'll know. She's part of my pack now."

Stiles doesn't seem to like that answer. He leans forward again, eager, like an annoying little puppy that doesn't understand he's done something wrong. Derek has to resist the urge to flick him hard on the nose. 

"But shouldn't she come back to Beacon Hills? What if she turns and does something-"

Derek stands up suddenly and paces once, twice in front of his chair. This was harder than he thought. Before, it was easy to ignore their emotions and their opinions. They weren't pack. Now, it's like he's thrown into the arctic. It's shocking and jolting, and he feels like he's sinking. But it feels too familiar, too well learned. It is missed. He is angry because he's missed them and is angry that he's missed being in a pack. He used to be good at it, with his family, and even back when it was just him and Laura. But so many things have changed since then. He has changed. His patience has changed, and they aren't wolves, not born wolves at least. Things need to be taught and learned. It is his job as Alpha to do it. He came back to do it; to guide his pack. He turns and faces them again.

"I'm her Alpha now. I'll know. There will be signs, she knows what they are. It's not going to be a sudden change like Scott's."

Suddenly, Stiles is flailing. His chopsticks flings noodles on his carpet as he bounces up excitedly.

"The curse wasn't transmitted through the bite, just awoken like in  _Resident Evil_!"

Derek glares at him, but it's an okay analogy. The acceptance must read on his face because Stiles grins and punches Scott's shoulder gleefully. Derek feels his eyebrows knit together. He doesn't want to encourage the teen.

"Why Seattle?"

Scott is asking now with his brown eyes confused.

"I used to live there. I still had some things in storage."

Stiles mutters something about his bike. Derek ignores him to focus on the young Beta whose eyes were taking on a golden hue. He understands that Scott is unconsciously reacting to his wolf's emotions. They need to work on that. Being able to distinguish between what the wolf feels and what you feel might mean the difference between life and death for someone in this town or someone in this room. The wolf is you. But what you feel is heightened and without the human hangups.

"I didn't stay in Seattle. I left after I got what I needed. It was too dangerous for me to stay in a city that big without learning how to control the Alpha. I went to a wildlife reservation in Mount Rainer. I went to someone who could help me learn how to control the Alpha, a shifter. Dr. Deaton-"

Stiles almost twitches off of the couch, and yeah, Derek would have liked to see that.

"Dr. Deaton? He's a shifter?... that actually explains a lot."

Derek can almost hear Stiles's brain churning the information over. Scott just looks amusedly at his best friend.

"Did you ever wonder why your boss never questioned your injuries or the fact that he found you bloodied and naked on more than one occasion?"

The Alpha watches as his Beta shrugs with a half grin on his face.

"Not really. I've known him my whole life, and I've worked with him since I was sixteen. He's the second person on my emergency contact list."

"So, that's the reason Scott trusted him? And why Peter wouldn't challenge him outright? Why Scott couldn't explain what he was?"

Derek feels a little proud of his pack. They are smart, resourceful, and have good instincts. Even if they annoy him sometimes, never do what they're told, and don't really know how to shut up or listen, he is proud of them.

"We call shifters Shaman's. To be able to claim a form, a shifter has to be completely one with the animal. It takes years to gain control like that. Some shifters can take the shape of only one animal; others can take the shape of ten. They live longer than most werewolves. We seek shifters out because they can help us better understand our wolves."

Scott leans forward on his elbows.

"But why didn't you just go to Dr. Deaton? Why did you go to Washington?"

Stile answers for him.

"Dude, do you even remember that whole "we think you're the Alpha" and almost getting him killed by the real Alpha incident? And besides, he's not a wolf."

Derek blinks at Stiles, but his grin doesn't falter. It's smug and yeah, the urge to swat him on the nose is there again.

"No, he isn't. But I couldn't go through the transition in familiar territory. I needed open space and miles between me and anything that I've known. Beacon Hills was too small. Too many people could have gotten hurt."

Scott's voice is low now and soft. He remembers how he went after the people familiar to him, went to the places most familiar to him when he turned. He sounds amazed when he speaks, amazed and a little bit guilty for reacting so strongly before. 

"Seattle is too big. You would have exposed us all."

Allison's voice is quiet and reserved.

"You left because you needed to protect us."

Derek nods his head. If Scott had any redeeming qualities, it's that he picked an intelligent, kind, level headed girl that could protect herself even if she was a hunter. He grudgingly reminds himself to talk to Scott about that somewhere quiet and away from breakable things.

"Dr. Deacon has been watching out for you, Scott especially. He would have contacted me if anything went wrong."

Stiles looks at him with a hard expression. He doesn't accept than answer. Derek didn't think he would.

"You did what you had to do to keep us all safe. I get that. We all do. But we deserve some kind of explanation. We looked for you. For six months, Derek. We searched for you."

Scott has the decency to elbow his best friend in the ribs because he can sense Derek's anger and hurt. He sinks back into the armchair and glowers right back at Stiles. Stiles seems to take the hint and shifts his body away from Derek which is good, submissive, but he doesn't back down. He keeps his head up and glare in full force. Derek fights the growl that wants to come rumbling out of his chest in frustration. He knows that eventually the kid would wear him down, and his wolf is not happy with it. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Only he would have the most nosy, annoying human as an accepted pack member. He drops his hand to look at the people in front of him.

"I should have never left you without warning, but I had to leave. If I would have stayed, I would have put all of you in danger. I would have put this town in danger again. I'm sorry for not telling any of you, but I will not apologize for leaving. You are my pack. It's my job to protect you. The only way I could do that was to leave and learn how to control my wolf again."

He lets that sink in, his pack slowly accepting his explanation, before he speaks again.

"Scott, we're going to start training again, if you still want to."

Scott pulls his confused face which makes Derek confused.

"Why wouldn't I want to? No offense to Stiles, but it would be nice to train with someone that doesn't make jokes about me killing bunnies on a regular basis. Besides… it was only the one time."

"Yeah, and I had to clean your kitchen before your mom found it, so I can crack all the bunny jokes I want thank you very much."

Allison scrunches up her nose and reaches around her boyfriend to shove at Stiles's shoulder.

"Thanks for bringing that memory up while we're eating."

He sticks his tongue at her but passes her the carton of fried rice. Derek can only watch in silence as his pack goes about their business like the previous conversation hadn't taken place. Even his confused voice doesn't surprise them.

"That's it?"

Stiles grins at him with laughter in his eyes. His anger is either long forgotten or well buried.

"Did you really think we wouldn't be happy to see you if killing the Alpha would have cured Scott?"

Derek honestly doesn't know what to say. He'd thought about it earlier. Maybe they understood why he did it. Maybe they were just afraid of him. He's a little disappointed that it's not the later. Everything was easier when they were terrified of him. Especially Stiles. He didn't talk as much, or he at least shut up faster.

"We get it. You lied to Scott in the first place to get him to help you. Not cool, but it did stop the murdering psycho werewolf. No offense."

Stiles pauses to hold his hands out in front of him in a defensive motion before speaking again.

"But what you did to protect Scott from having to become the Alpha? That we can't be mad at you for."

Derek sits there silently because he was expecting a fight, or unrelenting anger and resentment, or a demand for more explanations, or a demand for a better one. But they get it. They accept it. They can move on. He realizes that the fear he felt about coming back, the fear of their reactions, the fear of losing another pack, is gone just like that. He feels the tightness in his shoulders evaporate as Allison reaches across the short distance to wrap a slender hand around his. She squeezes gently as she smiles at him with soft brown eyes.

"Welcome back, Derek."

Scott grins as he wraps an arm around her as she leans back into him on the couch. Stiles salutes him mockingly with a wide grin. Derek feels his face shift to give them a smile too. It's strange to feel the lightness in his chest. His wolf hums happily.  _Pack._ It startles him; the happiness he feels in the moment. He wants to let the feeling of it sink in and to remember what it feels like. But he shoves that feeling back because there is still business to get out of the way.

"Pack meetings are every Monday. Training is on Wednesdays. Closer to the full moon, it'll be just me and Scott."

Stiles' shoulders go tense as he gears up to protest, and Allison has her mouth open to speak when Derek fixes them with a stern look and low growl. He lets the Alpha slips out for a heartbeat before he pulls it back in. This is not up for debate. His control is not as strong as it was before. Scott still needs more training though Derek can tell from his first night back that he's gotten stronger. They all have. But Derek will not chance slipping. Not with human pack members present. It could be deadly. He watches as they all share looks. Scott and Allison seem to have a silent conversation between them before she nods, and he kisses her temple. Stiles seems to get what they said because he rolls his eyes at them and agrees.

"Fine. Are we done now?"

Derek nods because he's said all he had wanted to say, and he can't really understand how it went so smoothly. He watches in confusion as Stiles hops off the couch and pulls a DVD out of the take out bag. He jogs the short distance to the plasma screen mounted on the wall to slips the DVD into the sleek player. He works it like he's used it a million times before. He can hear Stiles mutter, "I wonder where you got this." But Derek can pick up the amused tone in his voice and lets it slide. He did buy it with his pack in mind though he won't tell them that. Stiles manages to make it back to the couch and has the DVD already set on the Menu screen all without facing the TV. He grins as he hits play on the remote and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Derek sends him a glare.

"What are you doing?"

Stiles tucks into his noodles but spares him a grin purposely ignoring the look Derek's giving his feet on the coffee table.

"Bonding."

Derek feels the need to smack him, his whole face and not just his nose his time, but ignores the instinct. Instead, he sinks lower in his chair and props his feet up on the coffee table too. It's not like he could do more damage to it. If he knocks Stiles' legs down, he doesn't notice. He can see Stiles flash him a smile in the now dark room as Allison falls back down into the couch and into Scott's arms after switching off the standing lamp next to the couch. Suddenly, Derek's nose catches the sharp despair of sadness before it's washed away by the scent of beef and peppers that Scott opens. Derek blinks at Stiles and his blank face as he sets the volume like he wants it.

"What are we watching?"

Stiles grins, and Derek feels like it's too easy. It doesn't look right on his face and before Derek can figure out why, Stiles turns his face so it's cast in shadow. Derek can't make out his eyes even with his vision. This is the third time in as many days that Stiles had let strong emotions slip before reigning them back in. Derek has a fleeting thought that it might just be the Alpha. His senses are more heightened. But the emotions he sense from Stiles weren't like before; they are stronger, more potent. And it wasn't like Stiles to let his emotions spiral out of control or leak out all over the place. 

"Constantine. I've got to educate all your sorry asses about good cinematography."

He's happy now. Derek can feel it. So he lets it go, for now. He turns his face back to the TV and the opening credits and wonders how Stiles has managed to keep this secret from Scott, but seeing the Beta wrapped around his girlfriend, oblivious to his best friend sitting beside him, he understands. He feels his own annoyance flare and doesn't do anything to stop it. Scott picks up on it, and he sits up a little straighter and pulls his hands away from Allison's hips. She blushes. Scott looks mortified, but Derek doesn't turn to acknowledge him.

The movie plays on, and Stiles throws bits of information in here and there, rewinds certain parts, explains the mythology and theology, talks about cats and water and angels. Derek doesn't mind like he normally does. It's comforting to have the noise in the background; their voices and laughter, the sound of them, their smell. His pack is together and happy and calm and safe. Derek feels contentment hum through him.

It's not until the movie is over and Scott hops up to put in something called  _Pitch Black_  from the Chronicles of Riddick that Derek looks over to see Stiles slumped down on the couch. His neck craned to the side to rest against the dark red cushion as he sleeps. He hadn't noticed the teen had grown quiet. He's about to go back to watching the new movie when he hears it. Stiles heartbeat is starting to race. He can pick up the adrenaline starting to spread into the teen's bloodstream. Fear grips his sense. Stiles is afraid; he can smell it. Scott stiffens next to him as he recognizes his Alpha's reaction and his best friend's distressed scent. Derek doesn't move but calls out his name firmly with the Alpha pouring out into the words.

" _Stiles_."

He jerks awake with a gasp. When he meets Derek eyes, fear rolls off of him like a wave. It crashes against Derek so strongly it takes him off guard. His hands tighten in anger because he can clearly see the fear in Stiles’ eyes, and he knows exactly what put it there. He moves to stand, and Stiles reacts like a scared dog. He flinches but covers it by jumping up from the couch.

"I forget just how much the damned souls scare the crap out of me. Sorry for falling asleep. I haven't gotten much lately."

He glances down at his phone on the coffee table and curses. A new tendril of fear floats through the room. This time that fear is laced with dread.

"My dad is going to murder me."

Stiles pulls his jacket on and heads toward the door tripping on the rug as he stops short and turns.

"We have training tomorrow?"

Derek's voice is controlled as he answers.

"Just Scott."

Stiles face is disappointed, but he nods and waves a hand over his shoulder.

"If I don't survive, donate my stuff to charity."

After Stiles leaves, Scott helps Allison pick up the garbage as Derek shuts off the movie and puts the DVDs on the coffee table. Allison beams at him by the door as Scott helps her into her jacket.

"See you tomorrow."

He manages to tell them goodnight without growling. He sinks into the sofa as he hears Allison's car back out of the driveway. He tries to sleep but Stiles' scent drowned in fear keeps him awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is far from my favorite, but it provides a lot of backstory and some much needed explanations that will help clear some things up a bit.


	6. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just so you know, I don’t warn the people I hate before I eat them. I just eat them.”
> 
> Derek gives him a feral grin. It’s all long white teeth. Stiles laughs as he heads to the door.

What would you like? I'd like my money's worth.  
                                       Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this—  
        swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood  
on the first four knuckles.  
                                                    We pull our boots on with both hands  
but we can't punch ourselves awake and all I can do  
                   is stand on the curb and say _Sorry_  
                                        about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.  
  
 I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.

\- “Little Beast"  _Crush_ by Richard Siken

* * *

“Pack means family.”

Scott picks himself up still controlling the anger boiling over inside and still ignoring the wolf rattling its cage. This is not how he imagined training would go. He thought Derek would drill him into the ground, make him run up trees, carry boulders around, or run up trees while carrying boulders. He expected something, anything, a thousand and one other things, but getting thrown through a tree? Yeah, not exactly what he had in mind. Neither is the stern lecture his Alpha is spouting for that matter.

They are in the woods at the far edge of the Hale property. Far enough away that the dull noise of the city is gone. Scott knew how vast the Hale land stretched, how far it extended, because Stiles had made him run it almost every full moon to let off steam. He felt linked being on ground that belonged to his Alpha. It helped to have that minuscule connection. He hadn’t needed to be locked up at least not the whole night anymore. He could control himself… better. So Scott bites back his anger and takes a deep breath. He feels proud when he looks down at his hands to see that they are still his hands and not the wolf’s claws. He does shove Derek back though because he isn’t going to be pushed around and get yelled at for no reason at all.

“I GET that.”

He was there at the scenting and at the pack meeting. He heard that loud and clear. He wasn’t that stupid. But maybe he is because he doesn’t expect Derek to grab him and slam him against another tree hard enough that a few loose limbs crash into other branches as they fall to the ground around them. This tree doesn’t snap though as Derek gets far into his personal space and snarls.

“Do you!?”

Derek slams him back again. Bark is digging into the back of his shirt roughly.

“Then did you know where Stiles was the last four months?”

Scott doesn’t fight back this time. He just goes limp in Derek’s hands because what?

Derek still shoves him hard against the tree. His nostrils flare at the scent of Scott’s blood. The Alpha relaxes his hands and lets Scott’s shirt go. He takes a step back and breathes deeply as he faces the stunned teen with a hard glare. 

“Do you have any idea what he went through? What Peter, what you put him through?”

Scott blinks at him because he really has no clue what Derek’s talking about. He is the one that can definitely understand what the hell Peter put them all through seeing as Peter turned him and then tried to make him kill everyone he loves. But he doesn’t get what Derek is saying. He doesn’t get why he’s talking about Stiles. Derek seems to get that because he glares at him. e

“You were so focused on protecting Allison, and I understand that. I do. But did you for one minute think about Stiles? That he needed protection too? That he needed someone to be there for him?”

Derek cuts off a growl, and Scott understands that he’s struggling to keep in control. He can feel the anger rolling off of Derek in waves. But it’s not like what he felt when the Alpha was Peter. That wasn’t rage, this, this was self loathing. Scott feels his eyebrows pull together in confusion. He is missing something and the dots just aren’t connecting.

“We don’t abandoned family.”

Suddenly anger is all he feels. Anger and white hot resentment. They overpower his confusion. His fangs bite into his lip as he snarls at Derek, at his Alpha. His wolf is drowning in a fury he didn’t even know he was clinging to.

“YOU ABANDONED YOUR FAMILY! YOUR PACK! YOU LEFT! I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT I SUPPOSED TO DO!”

Derek handles it better than Scott expects. He breathes past the anger, drowns it out, until he eyes fade until they are completely human hazel eye again. He ignores Scott’s golden, glaring eyes that shine in the half darkness. He talks to him like he isn’t transformed, like he can’t tell Scott is more wolf than human now. Scott feels envy mix with the anger and resentment.

“I KNOW! I know. I had to leave. You know that. But I only left because I thought you could handle it.”

Scott tries to breathe past the anger like Derek did, but he can’t because he did what he thought he was supposed to do. He did the best he could, and Derek can go screw himself because he left them. He left _them_.

“I looked after the pack.”

Scott’s words are more growls than human speech; full of hatred and anger and accusation. Derek rounds on him again. Scott expects the Alpha red-blue eyes, but they are still just simple hazel. 

“You kept them together and safe. You did that right, at least. But Stiles needed his best friend, and you let him down.”

Scott tries to say that he was there for Stiles, but Derek cuts him off.

“He threw himself headfirst into research. He almost killed you with the AgX. He started to withdraw from you and Allison, and he started to pull away from pack. Scott, did you even know about the nightmares?”

Scott shakes his head slowly. He can remember Stiles getting the whole Derek Alert going with the surrounding police stations and the wildlife service at the beginning. He remembers being there the night they decided to clue in his dad. He also remembers all of the experiments. The water pistol of wolfsbane was hilarious; he could smell it a mile off. The paintball gun wasn’t. The paint in the balls masked the smell of the injection, and it hurt like a bitch when it contacted skin and screwed with his senses.

Then there was the AgX. He can still feel his skin puckering and blistering like the worst second degree burn. By the time they made it to the ER. it was slowly healing, and he’d gotten treatment for pretty bad 1st degree burns and a pretty bad tongue lashing from his mom about not jumping over any more bonfires to impress the girl that was already his girlfriend. It took a lot of maneuvering to avoid her for a week, so she couldn’t see that he was completely okay.

He remembers Stiles apologizing and smelling guilty... and then he remembers Stiles just not being there. They texted, but he never came over anymore. He remembers not even noticing Stiles was gone. So he filled his time with work and with Allison instead. There were no binge watching netflix. There was no gaming marathons. No mention of more experiments. No mentions of nightmares. No mention of his mom. Scott feels like somebody just sucker punched him as he stumbles through his mental calendar. He’s missed the anniversary of Stiles’s mom’s death. His anger shrinks to nothing.

“You abandoned a part of your family, Scott.”

Scott slowly sinks to the ground as his confusion and anger burns away to disbelief as he feels what Derek’s feeling. There is the harsh edge of self loathing, but he doesn’t need to feel the disappointment from his Alpha to make him feel useless.

“He was fine. He was just _Stiles_ , like always. Then the experiments, the training… he started, started to keep to himself. I just thought he was upset about Lydia leaving. I thought Stiles was okay. He told me that he was okay. He told me, he was. I-I, didn’t – I forgot about his mom’s death. I forgot. Fuck. What can I do Derek? What can we do?”

Derek unclenches his hands and shakes his head. Breathe streams out around him as he sighs. He looks down at the younger werewolf.

“Nothing. He found a way to manage on his own, but he shouldn’t have.”

Scott doesn’t move as he thinks. His voice is small when he finally speaks.

“I kept it together the best I could, the best we all could. I didn’t realize he was picking up the slack. He always picks up the slack. He’s always the one that’s there when I need him.”

Derek crouches down to look him in the eye.

“You ever stopped to think that he’s the one that needed you this time?”

Scott doesn’t meet his eyes. He hears more than sees Derek stand as he speaks.

“Stiles needed us. We weren’t there for him. We are pack. We look out for each other. We won’t let anything like this happen again.”

Scott throws his head against the tree behind him in frustration half listening to Derek.

“I can’t fucking believe I forgot about his mom.”

Scott wants to throw his head back into the tree again, but Derek’s shoes appear in his line of sight. He leans down and offers Scott a hand. Scott accepts it. Once he’s on his feet, he slowly follows Derek out of the forest. He's so wrapped up in how much of an idiot he was that he almost misses Derek speaking.

“Sorry about throwing you into a tree.”

Scott falls into step with him and shrugs. Some of the bark falls out of where it’s eaten into his shirt. He never apologized for losing control and trying to kill Derek. He doesn’t think he’s ever really, truly apologized for trying to maim Stiles all those times. The guilt digs deeper into his heart.

“I deserved it.”

After that, the silence between them is heavy and weighted with both werewolves lost in their own thoughts. It isn't until they arrive back at the Hale House and Derek is turning over the engine as Scott slips into the passenger seat of the sleek black Camaro that Derek speaks again.

“For what it’s worth, nobody got killed.”

Scott knows there’s a backhanded compliment somewhere in there, but he still feels like an ass.

* * *

The next time Stiles sees Scott it’s in the middle of the crowded hallway in between classes with everyone walking past them. That’s probably what makes Scott wrapping him in a bone crushing hug really awkward. Well that and the immensely entertained and curious look Danny is currently giving him. Stiles tries to shove Scott off, but there’s a problem with his hands being pinned to his side by his best friend utilizing his super special werewolf hugging powers. So he lets Scott hug it out and tries to mentally extinguish the bright red blush he feels creeping up his face and neck.

“Dude, this isn’t really the place…”

Scott only hugs him harder.

“Is everything okay? Is Allison alright?”

He panics when Scott doesn’t answer him and just buries his face further into Stiles' shoulder as he mutters a yeah.

“Is your mom okay? Did you set the toaster on fire again? Because I told you, that isn’t how you make grilled cheese. Dude, did Coach bench you because of your calculus grade? We can study some more. You can always do the extra credit-”

Scott pulls away, and he looks like he’s about to cry. Stiles feels his stomach bottom out. Scott doesn’t cry about stuff. The last time he really cried in front of him was Stiles's mom’s… Anxiety grips Stiles tightly, and he shakes Scott as he grabs his arms roughly.

“Is my dad okay? Scott, is my dad okay!?”

Scott manages to nod as Stiles takes a deep breath. He even lets Stiles drag him into an empty classroom without resisting.

“How about Derek? Is he still broody? Dude, give me something. You are freaking me out!”

Scott seems deflated as he slumps on a desk in front of the class.

“I am the shittiest best friend.”

Stiles gives him a blank stare.

“Yeah well, tell me something I don’t know.”

Scott looks like Stiles just kicked his puppy and okay, that makes him feel bad, so he backtracks.

“You are, alright? But you’re the only one I’ve got. So can you please tell me what’s going on? I don’t think physically assaulting someone through hugging in a packed hall filled with our very gossipy peers is the best answer for it or anything for that matter.”

Scott goes to hug him again, but Stiles throws an arm up to block him.

“Seriously!? What is up with you! Is it some weird bro bonding thing? Is it a wolf thing?”

Scott seems to deflate and looks at Stiles like he’s about to cry again.

“Stiles, I forgot about your mom’s anniversary.”

Yeah, Stiles had noticed. It hurt, but it’s not like the years before where he’d start shutting down the closer the date got. He wanted Scott to notice and to be his best friend, but he didn’t need him to help Stiles pick up the pieces of himself this year. And he really couldn’t fault him for forgetting. He had to deal with the fact that his girlfriend’s parents wanted to shoot him, a missing Alpha that may or may not be batshit crazy, and learning how to control himself from the half right and almost always sketchy information they could gather from the internet, Stiles’s research and lore, and what Allison could pry out of her parents.

So no, he couldn’t really fault Scott for forgetting. Especially since he almost forgot. The day just kind of snuck up on him. In seven years, he’s always dreaded November, dreaded the 4th, dreaded every second of that day. He’d woken up and was halfway through brushing his teeth when he had realized the date and was downstairs and met with the strong smell of whiskey when he truly remembered that his mom wasn’t ever going to laugh again. He takes a breath and rests his hand against his ribs, finger tips pressing lightly over the date tattooed on his left side, before he pushes all those thoughts away.

“Scott, it’s okay.”

Scott shakes his head angrily.

“No, it isn’t Stiles! I didn’t remember. I didn’t even notice that you sort of disappeared for four months. I’m your best friend, and you’re like my brother. Derek noticed and he wasn’t even here!”

“Derek? Derek noticed what?”

Scott looks up, but doesn’t meet his eyes. Stiles has been Scott’s best friend for so long he knows that the kid can’t think fast on his feet, verbally at least. He also knows that when Scott is put into a situation that he wants to avoid he lies and tries to change the topic. Too bad Scott can’t tell a lie to save his life except with his evil werewolf alter ego takes over (and that had only been the once), and his change of topics are things that even Stiles can’t follow. So Scott developed the _look-anywhere-but-at-the-person-you’re-lying-to_ method to try to counteract his sucky lie-and-change-to-the-most-random-topic-ever method. Even though it didn’t work back then and it definitely doesn’t work now he still uses it. Scott’s never had the best self preservation instincts. And noticing his friend’s blatant avoidance tells makes Stiles’s spidey senses tingle. He speaks before Scott can try and fail to change the topic.

“What the hell did he tell you, Scott?”

Stiles was glad he had years to develop an immunity to Scott’s puppy dog eyes. That was about the only aversion tactic he has and that actually works. But Stiles doesn't flinch. He just meets them head on and makes a get on with it motion with his hand. He was also glad that he learned to replicate his dad’s Sheriff voice. It probably happened from being on the receiving end of it so much. It had some weird power behind it that made people sit up a little straighter and listen. Stiles tries not to use the force for evil but extenuating circumstances…

“Spill.”

It was lucky that the hunters caught Derek instead of Scott because Scott spills his guts like a piñata at a 7-year-old’s Hello Kitty themed birthday party.

* * *

Stiles storms into Derek’s apartment. He doesn’t even care if Derek is busy on the phone. He rips it out of his hand and cancels the call. Then he punches Derek. Twice. In the jaw. Hard. He ignores the pain in his fist as he jabs a finger at the glaring Alpha’s face.

“Where do you get off telling my best friend that I’m emotionally broken and going through some kind of screwed up post traumatic stress disorder!?”

To his credit, Derek remains human and speaks calmly.

“You’re angry.”

Stiles throws his hands in the air.

“Of course I’m angry! I’m pissed the fuck off! At you! You abandoned us without so much as a “great job helping me kill the Alpha”! Nothing! I had to pick up the pieces because who else would? I started experimenting because I thought you might come back like Peter! I was prepared to kill you because I wasn’t going to let you murder anyone else I love because, news flash dude, I don’t have that many people I care about left! And Scott, he has been my best friend since we shared sparkly crayons in kindergarten, but he has a one track mind sometimes, and I really don’t blame him because Allison? Is freaking awesome! So I stepped up, like I always do. I’m better at it anyway! Scott still trips on his shoe laces for the love of Batman! And yeah, I distanced myself. I got tired of being the third wheel! A guy can only take watching his best friend making kissy faces at his girlfriend so much!”

Derek raises an eyebrow, and Stiles shakes this finger at his face. He will not let The Eyebrows distract him. He closes his eyes for a second and gathers up his resolve.

“The point is you don’t get to come rolling back into town and screwing everything up and putting these ridiculous “Stiles is broken and mentally deficient” thoughts into everyone’s head. Yeah, the nightmares are fucking shitty but I am dealing with it! I’m okay! I told Scott I was okay. I wouldn’t lie to my best friend! Who knows when I’m LYING! And FYI? I stopped experimenting because I almost killed him! I openly admit that sometimes my ideas aren’t that great alright!? Like giving you those clothes as a like a peace offering. Stupid of me to think we could be friends! Or at least thinking that giving you some hand me downs would endear me to you so you wouldn’t try to eat me so often! Speaking of things trying to eat me, those four months you think I was off somewhere curled in the fetal position with visions of deranged Alphas dancing around in my head? I was taking care of Orion! I do have a life outside of werewolves. It pisses me off that people seem to forget that! I’m also pissed off because I- _we_ tried to find you for months, months, and Lydia finds you right out of the blue and then she doesn’t even tell us about it!”

“It was kind of an accident.”

Stiles sails deflate. He forgets whatever he was saying because…

“What?”

Derek shrugs.

“She found me on accident. I was getting some things I left in Seattle before heading out to the reservation. I turned around, and she was just there, on the street. I made sure she knew the signs and asked her not to contact any of you about seeing me. I would have made things worse.”

It’s not a hard thing to process, but it still takes Stiles time to understand what he’s just been told.

“Oh.”

Derek who had been waiting patiently finally speaks.

“Are you done?”

Stiles can only nod because his speech has been completely derailed and _holy shit!_ He punched Derek Hale in the face! _Twice_!

“Sit.”

He falls back into the familiar sofa and doesn’t look over his shoulder as Derek opens the fridge and opens something with a hiss and clank. When that something ends up in front of his face and turns out to be a beer, condensation already forming on the glass bottle neck, he starts talking again.

“Yeah, I’m a minor and my dad-”

“Drink.”

That’s the Alpha voice. That voice leaves no room for argument. He’s not a wolf, but it’s a voice that demands cooperation. So Stiles drinks. It’s halfway gone when he finally puts it down. As far as beers go it’s not the worst he’s had. There’s a moon on it, and the irony does not escape Stiles. He thinks he might actually kind of like it if he wasn’t being forced to drink it. He feels himself getting ready to tell him that getting someone drunk isn’t the best way to deal with their problems, but he bites his tongue because Derek is watching him with intense eyes. Not Alpha eyes but not exactly friendly eyes either.

“Better?”

Stiles thinks about it for half a second and shrugs. Because he does feel better now that he’s told Derek off. It’s just the impending backlash that he’s not feeling too good about. 

“The next time you think about hitting me remember that I can and will rip your face off. With. My. Teeth.”

He’s pale. He knows he is because, yeah, he’s still a little bit afraid of Derek. He motions with his hands in nervousness.

“Yeah, of course. No problem.”

Derek sits back in his chair and that does little to relax Stiles. He watches as Derek takes another drag of his own beer before he speaks.

“Sorry about Scott. I wasn’t expecting him to react so-”

“Emotionally? Rashly? Publicly?”

Derek’s frown deepens as the words get worse each time.

“It’s hard to do this again.”

Stiles blinks.

“What, be back in Beacon Hills?”

He watches Derek play with the label on his beer.

“Being a part of a pack.”

“Well, welcome to the club.”

Derek grins a little and that. It’s just a quick upturn of his lips, barely a smirk, before it’s gone. Stiles thinks that might be scarier than the calm face.

“It’s going to be an adjustment for all of us.”

Stiles rolls the beer bottle in his hands and feels the water catch on his palms.

“So that’s why you want to start doing pack meetings.”

He nods once, eyes still watching Stiles, fingers still pulling at the label.

“It helps to keep everyone close.”

Stiles nods and takes another sip of the beer.

“Pack is family.”

Stiles tries not to fidget under Derek’s intense, laser like hazel eyed stare. He tries to stay quiet but can’t.

“That’s what all my research says. That’s what you told us. That’s what we are. Pack is family. It’ll help Scott control his wolf, and it will help you with the Alpha.”

“Yes, but pack isn’t all about the werewolves. Not this one, not my pack. In this pack, we’re all equal. No one is more important than another. Your problems are our problems.”

He levels Stiles with a knowing stare. The same look he gave him when he woke up from his recurring nightmare Monday night at the meeting. He gets what Derek is saying and what he’s offering it, but Stiles isn’t telling Derek that his uncle is the one that torments his sleep. Stiles forces the images down. He’s working through it, and he sure as hell doesn’t need a sourwolf psychoanalyzing him. Instead, he decides that if he survived punching the Alpha (twice!) he might survive arguing with him.

“Except when we’re not.”

Derek actually growls at that. Stiles keeps his voice calm but doesn’t lower his eyes. He takes the thin jagged line of fear that creeps under his skin, buries it, and keeps talking.

“You can’t treat me and Allison like we’re breakable. We can fight. We can defend ourselves. You’ve seen us in action. So you can’t just say we’re equal when you make sure we aren’t.”

Derek closes his eyes, and it looks like he’s trying to control another growl. A heartbeat passes before Derek opens his eyes again. They’re still normal.

“It’s for your protection.”

Stiles shake his head and frowns.

“No, it’s for _your_ protection. If we don’t at least see how far your control goes, we don’t know what you’re capable of. We don’t know how to help you. We don’t know how to calm you down… We don’t know how to stop you if you go too far.”

Stiles lets that hang in the air. He isn’t accepting this bullshit. He’s serious. If Derek goes over the edge, and they can’t pull him back then they will take him down even if they don’t want to because the scars in this town are still fresh, raw, and bleeding from Derek’s uncle.

“No.”

The Alpha’s voice is laced in his normal tone. Stiles keeps his eyes lowered but peeks under his lashes. Derek looks calm enough; his eyes still their normal hazel hue. He’s just trying to use it as a scare tactic. _Tough cookies, Wolfman._

“We need to be there Derek.”

Suddenly, a growl is rips through the room, and Derek is half way turned, nails long and deadly sharp where the rest on the bottle and the armrest of his chair, canines sharp and white in his snarling mouth, eyes flashing a rapid changing blue-red, locked onto Stiles.

“ _NO_.”

Warning bells blare in Stiles head. His inner self is telling him to shut the hell up. Derek is pissed, and he isn’t going to just give in like his dad does. This isn’t his dad. This is Derek, and this is his Alpha. That’s weird to think, but it’s thought, and Stiles can’t take that back just like he can’t stop the sudden anger coming out of nowhere and the words already tumbling out of his mouth.

“Fine! But you need to stop the weird mood ring nose you’ve got going on. It’s creepy, and it’s an invasion of my privacy. Scott tries his best to ignore it and just let me be a regular hormonal teenager. I mean, you did it before. How I’m feeling is personal unless I want to share it? Alright?”

He expects Derek to rip his throat out. But instead he just glares at him. It takes a full minute before that glare is an angry human glare. Stiles decides it’s safe to actually breathe again.

“Alright.”

Stiles sinks back into the couch a little relieved and a little shocked that Derek agreed to keep his nose to himself. From the research he’s done after the first pack meeting, he knows Derek’s having trouble readjusting. He’s having trouble controlling the Alpha let alone his Alpha nose. It’s like learning to be a wolf all over again. Stiles considers how much trouble Scott was having after he turned. He almost threw up in the towel bin in the locker room on more than one occasion before he learned to control it. He just expected Derek to fight him on it. He was prepared to bring up the fact that he doesn’t do it to Allison. But he thinks that has something to deal with the whole not biting another werewolf’s mate thing. Stiles needs to talk to Derek later about explaining that to Scott. The kid is his best friend, but he is NOT having that conversation with him. His likes his appendages just the way they are thank you very much.

Derek catches his attention again almost knowing that Stiles’ mind is running in 15 different directions at once now that he’s said what he’s had to say.

"You've got about 15 minutes to get home before that beer hits your system. It should relax you enough to take a nap. ...And just so you know, I don’t warn the people I hate before I eat them. I just eat them.”

Derek gives him a feral grin. It’s all long white teeth. Stiles actually laughs as he stands and heads to the door. A nap sounds good even if he does have lacrosse practice to get to later. He already skipped his last period to chew Derek out. It was totally worth taking a zero in his mini-lab for.

“Stiles?”

He stops shorts and turns back to Derek

“You did a decent job while I was away; keeping everything, everyone together and teaching Scott.”

Stiles grins at him.

“Yeah, you bet your werewolf ass I did.”

A low growl follows him out the door, but he doesn’t lose his grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is on the dense side mostly because I can never decide on a good stopping point. The poem that starts the chapter off is what tempted me to write this story. I think it fits Stiles and Derek so perfectly. Enjoy!


	7. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, so who has the Jaw’s theme as my text tone?"
> 
> Scott rolls his eyes, and Derek huffs his annoyance. Allison just gives him a small grin and a pat on the cheek as she walks past him to her car. Stiles turns around and follows them frowning and throwing his hands up in the air.
> 
> “Come on! That’s just not right. I deserve the Batman theme at least! AT LEAST!”

When Stiles heads over to Derek’s to tell him about the meeting with Mr. Argent set for tonight, he doesn’t expect there to be mattress blocking the stairs. He barely manages to fit inside the doorframe with the giant king sized bed halfway through it. He almost squeezes past, but his foot trips on a box. He sees the floor quickly rising up to meet him. He only manages to not crack his skull open by Derek grabbing the collar of his shirt and hefting him up like a mother wolf does to an unruly cub.

Stiles awkwardly dusts himself off as he takes a look around the room. There are boxes and wood scattered everywhere. He picks up the directions he finds on the floor and turns them upside down and back before he can make them out. Derek’s building a bed frame for his new huge ass bed. There are also bags of groceries half put away on the counter, bags of clothes dropped on the couch, and an XBOX unopened on the coffee table. He hears Derek ask him what he’s doing there, but Stiles decides that he doesn’t want to answer.

“If you weren’t as broke as we thought, why did you accept those hand me downs from my dad?”

He watches Derek shrug as he pops open a packet of screws and wooden dowels and assembly things.

“I needed clothes.”

Stiles wants to argue the point, but Derek is turning away from him and narrowing his eyes at the halfway assembled bed frame. there's a matching headboard leaning against the far wall halfway blocking the door to the bathroom. Stiles has never seen Derek spend money on himself. On gas for the Camaro sure, but never on himself. Stiles knew that Derek had to have some kind of money somewhere to afford that car and keep himself in leather jackets, but he never really thought about it. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Derek's money is partly from his family inheritance, the Hales were one of the richest families in Beacon Hills since it became Beacon Hills, but the rest of his money came from his family's life insurance. Stiles feels his heart sink into his stomach. His mom's life insurance, what little it was, went directly into a savings account for Stiles' college tuition. His dad wouldn't spend it on anything else. Stiles still feels guilty that he even has the account when he sees the bills he knows his dad is barely paying off some months. But he understands why he father couldn't use the money that came from losing someone you loved on something so mundane as the mortgage. Stiles knows without a doubt that Derek probably felt the same way. Now he's only spending it to make this place feel like a place his pack wants to be, where he could feel anchored, where he could feel at home.

Stiles drops his backpack into the armchair and walks over to where Derek is picking out a Phillips head screwdriver. Stiles picks up a piece of solid black wood, a piece of the footboard he thinks, and moves it so he can sit on the floor in the center of the hollowed frame.

“What are you doing?”

He pulls the directions toward him and frowns as he turns it around again. There is a little man smiling at him so he assumes that it’s right side up.

“Helping you put this together, so you won’t miss the meeting you have with Mr. Argent tonight.”

Derek yanks the directions back to him and very nearly growls at Stiles. He just shrugs and starts to put screws where he thinks they belong, so he could help put the support boards in.

“Hey, don’t you have a Beta that can help you out with this?”

He watches as Derek is still glaring at him from where he’s putting together the weird looking metal supports that fit across the corners of the bed.

“You can never just lead with the important stuff?”

For a second, Stiles lets the disappoint take over before he beats it back down and grins. It’s not like Derek really liked him before. He didn’t expect it to get better after he got back or after he officially became pack. He’s not exactly sure what he expected, but Stiles knows that he is glad Derek is back. He grins up at his a\Alpha and his ever articulate eyebrows.

“I have to keep you on your toes.”

He slips out his phone and hits the second number on his favorites list. It rings twice before Scott answers.

“Get over to Derek’s. We’re doing Bob Vila things.”

Stiles hangs up without waiting for a reply. They both keep puttering away until Stiles drops the thingy he was trying to connect with the other thingy. Derek keeps it from smashing his fingers with werewolf reflexes. Stiles gives him a helpless shrug. Assembling things wasn’t his forte. All the steps and directions didn’t clash well with his ADHD. He wanted to do it all at once, and whatever he was assembling always ended up with more screws leftover then there’s supposed to be. Hello bookshelf fiasco of ’08 and the untimely death of the great betta fish Tupac.

“This is some kind of cruel Swedish torture.”

He catches Derek’s grin out of the corner of his eye. It’s still a strange thing to see especially when it’s not associated with physical violence or death threats. Stiles ends up sitting in the middle of the half constructed bed and handing Derek stuff until Scott shows up. Stiles frowns because he manages to make it through the door without eating it. _Stupid werewolf ninja balance._ Scott’s eyes go wide.

“Tell me you’re not letting Stiles help! Dude, you’re going to die in your sleep when your bed collapses!”

Stiles rolls his eyes at his best friend as he gives Derek the last of the wooden pegs in the little plastic bag.

“Don’t call me dude.” “Thanks Scott. Really.”

Scott doesn’t acknowledge his Alpha’s command, and he sure as hell doesn’t look ashamed or apologetic at Stiles as he pulls himself from the floor. Stiles hands his best friend the weird wrench thing that came with the instructions.

“You figure out how to read Swedish, and I’ll put away the groceries.”

He doesn’t look back as Scott looks over the directions once and gets to work. Scott’s the only reason why he has a bookshelf now or a dresser for that matter. He lets Derek and Scott figure out how to make a bed out of a box. He has everything put away in no time. He only hopes Derek doesn’t mind that he set it up like the pantry and cupboards in his own house. He manages to find some scissors and starts to set up the XBOX. He’s already three boss fights in on _Need for Speed: Most Wanted_ when Derek yanks the controller from his hand and ends the game.

“You are so lucky I save like every ten minutes.”

Derek gives him a pointed glare and jerks his finger toward the door. Scott and Stiles pile into the jeep, and Derek follows in the camaro. When they pull into the school’s empty parking lot, it is almost dusk. Stiles knows that the hunters chose this time because the waning light can mess with a werewolf’s eyes. Something about low light and refraction and the dueling variation of illumination pops into his mind from the research he’s done. They want to try and even the playing field which is ironic because they also chose to meet on a literal playing field.

They are just walking out to the center of the lacrosse field when they see the black SUV’s pull to a stop blocking the jeep and the camaro in. Stiles fights the nervous knot twisting itself into life in his stomach. It’s just scare tactics. Scott watches as Allison walks ahead of the group. She folds herself into Scott’s side as Chris Argent and three other hunters stop just shy of the pack. Derek is standing front and center hands relaxed at his sides. Scott is directly on his right and half a step behind. Stiles is on his left with his hands in his pockets so he can't fiddle. He nods at the hunters.

Chris Argent gives him a polite if not tight lipped smile.

“Stilinski.”

He gives the older man a two fingered salute.

“Sup, Mr. Argent.”

Argent then narrows his ice blue eyes at Derek.

“Hale.”

Derek nods back and greets the man gruffly.

“Argent.”

Scott gives him a short wave and lets his arm rest across Allison’s soldiers. She looks uncomfortable about the whole thing. Stiles give her a smirk. She gives him one of her own even if it wavers a little.

“I’m sure you know why I’ve asked for this meeting.”

Derek meets the hunter’s steely gaze head-on.

“You want to be sure that I will keep to the treaty.”

Chris lets out a huff of air. His eyes look frozen; a sharp white blue in the fading orange light. It looks unearthly, inhuman.

“I want to make sure my family is safe.”

Scott opens his mouth to speak, but Derek sends him a look. He shuts his mouth so fast the clack of his teeth meeting is audible.

“Allison is a part of my pack.”

There is an unsaid, _she is my family now_ , that isn’t added onto the sentence, but it is still received loud and clear. If it isn’t the voice of Alpha that slips into the words makes goosebumps tear across Stiles’ skin. He tries to ease the feeling by rolling his neck slightly. It doesn’t help that four sets of eyes are watching him.

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t believe you wouldn’t hurt her to get back at our family for what Kate did.”

Derek bristles at that. Stiles can see his eyes flash for a split second before he closes them tightly. When he looks back up, there is just hazel and a hard sheen of hatred.

“Whatever revenge I was seeking, I found it the second Kate was put to rest.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Stiles can see Allison bury her head into Scott’s shoulder. Derek spares her a glance before looking back to the blank faced hunters watching them. Chris’s face darkens, but he squares his shoulder and lets his face fall into a blank expression.

“We don’t want what happened to Laura to happen again.”

Stiles can see Derek’s shoulders tense. Scott’s eyes are boring into his Alpha’s back, and Stiles’s brain starts to rhythmically chant _OHSHIT-OHSHIT-OHSHIT-OHSHIT_. Stiles closes the space between them and throws his forearm over Derek’s shoulder. He leans into the werewolf heavily, forcing Derek to take his weight, praying that he gets the hint that he needs to stay exactly where he is before dropping his hand and wrist so Mr. Argent can see the ring. Derek’s shoulders don’t lose any of their rigidness, but the tension in the air snaps like a chain strained under too much pressure. The hunter narrows his eyes at Stiles and the family symbol that stands out against his pale skin.

“Your father might not have a problem with you hanging out with a person of interest Stiles, but I don’t think he’d be so approving if he knew what Derek really was.”

Stiles grins up at the man ignoring the snarls that come out of both Scott and Derek simultaneously. They are both not fan of threats. Stiles isn’t a fan of threats either, not where it concerns the people he loves. And he always has a backup plan or twelve.

“He actually doesn’t mind that Derek’s a werewolf. Scott either for that matter or that Allison is a hunter.”

He takes a second to memorize the shocked look of pure disbelief on the older hunter’s features before slipping out his phone and tapping at his screen.

“He even wanted me to pass a message along. You know he’s kind of busy actually protecting the people of Beacon Hills right now to attend this little sketchy rendezvous.”

He takes Argent’s glare in stride as he sends the message he had ready on his screen. Chris Argent’s phone gives two trill beeps. The hunter pulls out his phone and clicks the audio message that was received.

“Mr. Argent, Mr. Hale, I regret that I can’t be at your meeting. But as Sheriff of Beacon Hills I am invested in this treaty. As a father of a boy that is involved in this, I am invested. I know of both of your kind. From your daughter Allison, Mr. Argent and from Derek Hale. I will keep your secrets. I give you my word. But I will not be a part of either side. I am neutral, as is this town, where hunters and werewolves are concerned. I have looked into both of your codes, and they will let you live together in peace as long as they are upheld on both ends. That being said… This is _my_ town. You will answer to _my_ rules. You will answer to _my_ laws before you answer to any of yours. I hope that all of our families may live together in peace. I am not naïve in thinking there won’t be any altercations. I know that your families have hurt each other gravely. Scars heal slowly and history is hard to ignore. But the future is yet to be written. ”

The audio message ends and Mr. Argent and the rest of the hunters seethe. Stiles just grins.

“It seems like I’ve been wrong about who the brains of the operation is in your pack, Hale. You would have made a great hunter, Stiles. You know, it’s never too late to learn.”

Derek growls low in his throat. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because Argent is calling Derek stupid or because he is testing Stiles' loyalty to the pack. Either way it makes Stiles grit his teeth. He takes a step forward, tongue poised like a blade in his mouth, ready to carve out words that will make the hunter hurt. But Derek is holding Stiles back, a hand gripping his shoulder tight enough to bruise. The teen takes a breath and wills himself to calm down. He thinks about how much his words would have hurt Chris just as much as Allison and Derek. He’d be giving the hunter exactly what he wanted; a rift in the newly reformed pack. Rifts turn into ravines easily. Stiles looks up at Chris with a grin, not dropping his shoulder to remove Derek’s hand. He takes a deliberate step back, putting himself directly on Derek’s left again.

“Thanks, but I'll pass. I’m right where I want to be.”

The hunters chuckle behind them. Derek let’s out another growl. It’s low and dark. It echoes across the field. They shut up quickly at the sound. Argent just shakes his head like he’s disappointed. Then he beams at Derek and Stiles feels those nerves come roaring back to life.

“I’ve asked for this meeting to remind you that we keep to The Code. We will not harm your pack as long as you don’t shed human blood. The treaty will remain unbroken.”

Derek doesn’t back down from the steely gaze of the hunter. He inclines his head, once, sharply.

“You have my word.”

Whatever Chris Argent sees in Derek’s eyes, he seems to accept. He nods his head in the same way. Then he grins and Stiles fights the roll of trepidation in his stomach. He thought Derek’s smile was frightening? He had nothing on Argent’s perfect display of forced cheer.

“It seems that your _pack_ has my number, but I don’t have yours, Derek. Would you mind if I programmed it into your phone?”

He holds out a hand toward Derek, but the Alpha stays impassive and unmoving. Stiles grins in his head. He pulls out his phone again and unlocks the screen.

“I got this, Mr. Argent.”

Stiles hurriedly copies the contact and mass texts it to the group in his phone labeled _Wolf Pack_. Three different sets of text tones go off, and Stiles slips his phone back into his pocket.

“Done.”

Argent gives him a sharp grin, and Stiles returns it with a cheeky one of his own. Derek intervenes by releasing his shoulder and staring at the hunters.

“We’re finished here.”

Chris studies him for a heartbeat before nodding. He looks over to Allison. An emotion flickers across his features as fast as lighting before it disappears. Stiles is sure he saw it, that haunted look, that is wasn’t just a trick of the light and growing shadows. He stores that away to dissect later.

“Curfew is at 10, Allison.”

“I’ll get her home safely, Mr. Argent.”

Scott returns the man’s nod with a wide grin as Allison curls her fingers into his. They watch the hunters retreat, and Stiles feels the words tumbling out of his mouth before he even thinks.

“Remember: Click it or ticket!”

Chris Argent's shoulders tense up, but none of them turn around as they pack in their shiny black SUVs and speed out of the parking lot. Derek grabs him by the scruff of his neck as soon as they are out of sight and all but hauls him to where their cars are parked.

“ _Stiles_.”

His face is pinched with an annoyed look. Stiles dubs it the _I Should Have Ripped Your Throat Out When I Had The Chance_ look. He fleetingly thinks that’s he’s going to be on the receiving end of that look a lot more often. He manages to shrug out of the hold and fixes his shirt and jacket.

“Oh, don’t you get all wolfy on me! You weren’t exactly doing a stellar job communicating there buddy.”

Stiles doesn’t say that he lost it the second they drug Laura into it. He doesn’t say that he could practically see Derek’s old wounds flayed open again.  What he does is ignore the growl and the sudden flash of red-blue eyes. Instead, he refocuses Derek’s anger.

“I might have been going out on a limb, but I think it was safe to assume that Papa Argent lifted my number and Scott’s from Allison’s phone. He really didn’t need anyone else’s especially not yours, Derek. He would have programmed that tracker app into your phone just like he did to Allison’s.”

Allison and Scott both try to peer at the screen of her phone at the same time. Stiles takes it from them, and the whole group watches as he flips to a folder that says _photo stuff._ Between her apps is one that looks like a little camera app. A green lens is the only definable feature. Stiles taps it and hits a series of controls in order and up pops a little tracker map. Her location is a little green blimp on the dark grid. Allison looks pale and furious.

“I can’t believe he did that! He’s been tracking me!”

Scott tries to calm her down. Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles.

“How did you know that?”

“Like he magically just knows where Allison is _all the time_? My dad tells wary parents about it whenever their kids go missing for a few days usually it's just them trying to scare their parents or whatever. He tried to use it on me once. I ended up making him go on a goose chase across town when I passed it onto Greenburg’s phone. He works for Joe’s Pizza. It took him 7 hours to figure it out. It was so worth the week of grounding.”

Derek’s lip twitches like he’s fighting back a smile. Stiles grins and fist bumps the air triumphantly in his head.

“Can you take it off?”

Stiles hands her back the phone and shrugs.

“I really don’t think we should. I mean removing it will only make him think the worst, and he’ll come looking for a fight. Just let him have a little bit of security. It might be better for everyone in the long run.”

“It won’t be better for him when I get home.”

That voice promises pain, and Stiles would not wish that wrath on his worst enemy. He can see Victoria in Allison at that exact moment, and he almost takes a step back. Derek is looking at her with something very similar to approval. Scott just looks extremely worried probably because he finally got the Argents to stop threatening to kill him. Stiles claps his hands together to bring their attention back to him. 

“Okay, so who has the Jaw’s theme as my text tone?”

Scott rolls his eyes, and Derek huffs his annoyance. Allison just gives him a small grin and a pat on the cheek as she walks past him to her car. He turns around and follows them frowning and throwing his hands up in the air.

“Come on! That’s just not right. I deserve the Batman theme at least! _AT LEAST_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really had issues with construction and movement in this chapter. I apologize if it feels choppy. The next few chapters will be of the kick-you-in-the-feels variety. Just a heads up.
> 
> Also, because I am incapable of writing anything less than 10 chapters long, I'm toying with the idea of breaking off a few chapters of this fic that could stand alone and posting them as single stories in the AU I've created. It mostly depends on what you guys think. 
> 
> P.S. The batman theme is the text tone my friends have for me :) The jaws theme is the ringtone I use for work.
> 
> P.P.S. Nobody would think anything of a The Hangover reference in a teenage boys group chat name.


	8. Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles was never meant to be the bearer of bad news. No, no, he was most definitely not. And werewolves, well, they never really grasped the concept of not killing the messenger...

“Where the fuck did you come from!?”

Derek ignores Stiles’s question and points to the window as he lurks the teen’s ever growing bookshelf. He watches as Derek rests a finger on the new lore book that Stiles had recently gotten his hands on. 

“You might remember me telling you about this, but there are these things called doors. And since you aren’t a wanted murderer anymore, I don’t think my dad would shoot you if you actually tried to use it. At least, I don’t think he’d tried to shoot you. I meant, not like _all_ the time. Probably, only around the full moon and if you were all..." he gestures to his face, teeth barred, "snarly."

Derek ignores him and his rather informative rambling in favor of pulling out the book and flipping through it.

“I thought I had tracked down all the lore books.”

Stiles throws his phone and earbuds on his bed as he sits down in his desk chair to peel off his socks and running shoes.

“This doctor, Conrad Fenris, wrote it. Wicked smart guy but _paranoiiiiiiid_.”

Derek flips through the book before landing on a page and reading a line. The words Alpha, Beta, and Omega make his body tense. He flips further. Stiles can see, can almost feel his anger building as he finds the burial ceremonies taunting him in black and white print. Stiles doesn’t realize that he has stopped moving to watch Derek’s jaw jump down in frustration and anger. The werewolf snaps the book closed with enough force that the binding almost breaks. Stiles flinches at the growl that rips across the space between them.

“Where did you get this?”

Stiles rests his hands on his thighs to stop his fingers from picking at his dirty laces.  

“He’s been discredited, and everyone thinks he’s a nut job. I convinced him that I was just really into the stuff. It wasn’t hard because I kind of am into it you know? But that book is the only copy he ever reproduced. And it’s not 100% correct. Some of it was based off of myths and some really badly translated Romanian Monastery scrolls.”

“How did he know all of this?”

The growl is gone, but the sound still lingers in Stiles’s bones. Warily, Stiles bends down to unlace his shoes to take them. He takes his time pulling off his socks and taking off his pullover. He chucks the clothes toward the hamper in the corner next to the dresser and toes his shoes out of the way.

“Stiles.”

The teen closes his eyes and sighs before turning back to the werewolf. Angry hazel eyes stare back at him as he uselessly runs a hand through his hair just to dissipate some of the nervous energy settling under his skin.

“Look, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you okay? Scott was supposed to break it to you way before now. But nooooo, I always get stuck with the shitty jobs. And I can’t even heal myself if you wolf out and try to take a chunk out of me. He’s your freaking Beta! I shouldn’t have to be the one to always break the bad news to you. If anyone hadn’t noticed, I have a tendency to die without a throat!”

“ _STILES_.”

Derek’s hands are clenched at his sides, the muscles around his eyes tight, like he’s holding back his wolf. Stiles takes a deep breath and plants his feet firmly on the ground and meets the green-blue eyes boring into him. He knows that Derek will be able to hear his heartbeat and know that it’s the truth. He just doesn’t know if Derek is going to try to rip his heart out if he doesn’t like what he hears.

“He knew because he had a contact, a werewolf contact.”

Derek stares at him in disbelief. When he doesn’t speak after a few seconds, Stiles leans toward the werewolf and sighs. He rests a hand on his shoulder taking the soft leather under his fingers in a firm grip. When Derek doesn’t try to remove the appendage, Stiles looks the him in the eyes and speaks.

“I really wish I wasn’t the one to tell you this. I just want you to know that, alright?”

He waits until the Derek nods once and then spits it out like its fire on his tongue, like if it comes out fast enough the pain wouldn’t hurt as much, like ripping off a badly stuck band aid crusted to an infected wound.

“Derek, it was your sister. It was Laura.”

It speaks of his control that Derek doesn’t start growling at the mention of her name. Maybe it’s because it’s Stiles. It's pack bringing her up and not Chris Argent or Kate. Stiles barely suppresses the shiver at the remembrance of her name. It’s not fear he has to bite down; it’s anger. Stiles doesn’t hate anyone. For all the shit Jackson has ever said or pulled on him, Stiles doesn’t hate him. Sure, he wants someone to steamroll his Porsche with a monster truck, but he doesn’t hate him. But Stiles hates Kate. He hates her so much it still startles him.

It startles Derek too. He can probably taste the bitter scent in the air let alone smells it. Stiles sighs, lets the anger dissipate, and tightens his hand on Derek’s shoulder almost on instinct. It's a tactile apology that he’s always shared with Scott. Now the Derek is watching him closely. hHis body still held stiffly but the shock in his eyes is gone. It’s replaced with the looks he’s been throwing at Stiles ever since the werewolf came back. It’s not exactly concern, but it’s not really confusion. It’s somewhere in the middle. It’s enough of a distraction to throw out his next theory.

“I think that maybe this has to do with her death.”

“ _What_?”

Stiles moves his hand away from the leather clad shoulder because that look is a little too angry, and his fingers are a little too close to a werewolf’s mouth.

“Just hear me out, okay? She helps this doctor start writing this book exposing not only her own pack but every pack and werewolf in the world. People are bound to get pissed. And Alphas don’t like it when people go snitching on them.”

After a while of tense silence, Derek grunts as he thinks it over before his nose wrinkles with disgust at his own thoughts.

“We would have… convinced the doctor to change his interests, and we would have stripped her of her rank. We don’t kill our kind unless we have to.”

Like Peter. Stiles’s heart goes out to the guy. It really does. But he can’t really show it right now because he’s too excited that Derek sees it like he does. It took hours to make Scott listen, and then he only half agreed with him. He didn’t even want to tell Derek about Dr. Fenris at all. They never even told Allison because, well, yeah…

“But Dr. Fenris didn’t just expose werewolves in this book…”

Derek stiffens as he follows Stiles’ train of thought.

“He exposed hunters, too.”

Stiles takes the book from Derek and flips it to a dog-eared section; the small paragraph that explains the etymology of the silver myth. It’s a small passage, but what he is drawn to is just a sentence really. It could be easily overlooked by anyone that isn’t looking for it or for someone who doesn’t know the hidden meaning behind the words. He points it out to Derek.

_“Silver will not harm a werewolf, but it will kill it.”_

For all purposes, it looks like a typo or a slip of an already crazy man’s mind. But it’s just one in a long list of phrases Stiles had picked out of the book that has been true about werewolves and hunters. Most of the hunter related tidbits being specifically related to the Argents, or at least what Stiles knows of them from Allison. (Throwing question after question at her was making her suspicious. So he might have abused his bro code by throwing Scott at her to get her off his trail. It’s not like either of them were complaining about his methods though.)

“I think she was involved with a hunter.”

Derek has him pinned against the wall so hard and so fast that his breath wheezes out of his lungs, and he has to gulp like a drowning fish to breath again. He can feel chalky dust falling onto his shoulder where the Derek’s claws have bitten deeply into the drywall just above his body. He tries to keep his voice even and his tone calm.

“I think she was having an affair with Allison’s dad.”

Derek lunges forward and, by instinct, Stiles bares his throat and wills his body to relax. _Submissive, be submissive to the Alpha._ He can feel Derek’s breath coming in ragged, scorching puffs against his skin. Stiles swallows as he slips his hand toward the table slowly. He speaks gently and is proud that his voice doesn’t shake at all.

“Out of all of the hunters, he _volunteered_ to move his entire family to Beacon Hills. He was adamant about finding out who killed her. He wanted to find the Beta because it would lead him to the Alpha, to the Alpha that he knew killed her.”

Stiles prays that Derek’s growl covers the three metal clicks of the stun rod. The sound of claws scraping down the wall near the side of his head is motivation enough to pull the trigger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be way longer and posted ages ago. But the plot fairies have taken over my brain, and I wanted to post something, anything, before I follow where my imagination leads.


	9. Fission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek pulls himself from the ground, from his emotions, squares his shoulders, and starts toward his apartment. He wants an answer, and he sure as hell is going to get it.

Derek feels like he got hit by a car. His whole body throbs and aches. His head is pounding. And something is making the bed vibrate. He groggily reaches out to still whatever is moving rapidly next to him. He feels the slick material of running pants under his fingers before a shaky gasp reaches his ears.

“Oh, _thank god_.”

He grips whatever was moving; a knee that belongs to Stiles who is seated next to him on the bed. He pulls himself up into a sitting position groaning as everything convulses painfully. A lovely aftereffect of the electricity that had flown through his veins a short while ago. He growls at Stiles as the boy helps him sit up with a strong arm around the back of his shoulders. Stiles draws his hands away quickly giving Derek a grin at the glare he sends his way.

“I never had to use the elephant setting before. Scott can barely handle cattle.”

Derek scoffs at him, but he feels his wolf preen at the boost to his ego. It makes him feel a little bit better about getting tasered but not by much. He can clearly recall what happened. He can still smell the electricity in the air as well as Stiles’s scent. The usual smell of the teen is smothered under the sharp, vile smell of cold blooded terror. Derek looks down at his lap ashamed that he’s pulled that emotion out of Stiles, now out of one of his _pack_ , again. Guilt wells up in his chest as he remembers the way he almost lost control. If Stiles hadn’t tasered him…

Derek isn’t even sure he would have been able- Derek’s thoughts screech to a halt. He won’t think about the what ifs. He can’t. But he can’t forget this either. The scent of fear and electricity, the feel of plaster chalk like and soft under his nails, and the gouges in the wall like comet like trails will stay with him as a reminder. He is the Alpha. He can’t afford to lose control. He will not harm his pack again. He will not let this happen again. His voice is gruff when he speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles just shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. Fury runs through Derek's veins. The anger of the Alpha makes everything bleed red for a split second until he stamps it down viciously.

“It’s not like I took your stupid nerf gun and broke it, Stiles! I wanted to rip your heart out!”

He doesn’t realize that he’s crowded into Stiles space until he can see the boy flinch back a little. He's about to pull back and apologize again when the teen gets right up in Derek’s own personal space. Derek can’t recall when Stiles not only stood his ground but held it. He is surprised into inaction.

“I’m not saying that you wanting to make an afternoon snack of my heart isn’t important. It kind of is. I’m saying that I get it. I get why you wolfed out at me. Hearing news like that, you can’t take it any other way.”

It’s not until they lapse into silence that he realizes his hand is still splayed against Stiles knee. He drags it away and stands up and makes his way to the door ignoring the sudden and sporadic contraction of the muscles in his back where the taser rod struck him. He needs to move; to go, to run. He needs to get away from it all. He needs to shake off the piercing sting of shame, of betrayal and anger, that his wolf kicks up inside of him. He needs to go before his control slips again.

He half hears Stiles move to follow him. He's aware that Stiles is speaking but can’t focus on what he is trying to say. Derek doesn’t realize he’s outside until his fingers dig into the cool grass of the Stilinski’s front yard. He doesn’t realize he’s shifted until his claws sink inches deep into the damp, dank soil in the woods that surround the back of the Sheriff’s house. It's the same woods that blend and bleed out into his family’s land.

His wolf snarls at the thought of family. _Betrayer_ it chants. _Sister_ and _liar_ and _abandoned_. The fury crowding his head clears, and he draws himself back painfully. The quick snap of control over his wolf is painful, sharp, and choking. It helps him focus. He reins himself back in. The physical pain of refusing the transformation into his Alpha form blends into the emotional pain and blends into the desperate howls of his wolf like a sick lullaby of ache. He runs.

He runs like the very wind is trying to catch him. His chest heaves through his harsh paces, but his body keeps up. He snarls and the forest stills around him. Quiet echoes around him. He can think in this quiet, with the smell of forest, the shadows cast by warm evening light, the thought of _home,_ surrounding him.

He hates the disconnect his feels inside of himself. There used to be no separation between the wolf and himself. They were the same being. The same person. There was only Derek. Not Derek and the wolf. But now he can feel it. He can feel it missing the part of himself that he had complete control over, the part of himself that he loved, that made him a werewolf, that made him a Hale. It’s now something else. Something other. Something more. It’s still him, he knows, but it’s instinctual. It’s natural and wild and so, so strong.

He never struggled to keep himself reigned in not since he was a child. Not like this. Then Laura was murdered, and Peter needed to die. His wolf took on the rites that his Uncle stole, but he couldn’t deal with it. Had no idea how to control it, to tame his wolf again, not after being a Beta for so long. He was never supposed to have this. He was never supposed to bear this kind of power. He was never trained to be an Alpha.

He howls. It’s nothing but a song of pain and grief and anger. God, Laura was never supposed to bear this either. Not yet. Not so young. She struggled just as much as he had for those months hidden away in the reserve. The shaman forced him to hold his own against _himself_  until he could shift into his old form without losing control. The only thought that kept him in check was the sheer amount of fear of what he would do if he did let his wolf, newly reborn, win. Like tonight, like when he started to lose control. He will never know if he would have won the struggle with the wolf. He will never know if he could have kept himself in check before Stiles pulled the trigger. That thought terrifies the fuck out of him.

Derek sinks his claws into the soft bark of an oak tree to remove the feel of sheetrock under his nails. He growls into the night. This is what he was afraid of. Harming one of his pack. Pack. He had struggled to come to terms with that during his isolation. He was so angry at having one at first. A pack he didn’t want but desperately needed. He fought the little flame of pack in his heart with tooth and nail. He tried and failed desperately not to let it kinder.

The wolf craved for a family that he still mourned. So Derek mourned, and he hated. Those emotions all bundled together. Rage at Peter for hurting the only person he had left, that they had left. He could barely distinguish that fury from the anger at his uncle for forcing Derek to take his life for the safety of his pack. His wolf had already accepted them as pack, already thought of them as a unit, as a family. They were his. _His pack_  which consisted of one frustratingly stubborn, one track minded teenage werewolf, a huntress in training that just so happened to be the niece of the woman who used him and burned almost his entire family alive, and a human that forged a spot for himself in Derek’s pack with his boundless energy, intelligence, and unwavering loyalty.

A human that should have never been involved in this and should never have had his life taken away from him. Because Stiles life _was_ taken from him. The second Peter bit Scott, Stiles was dragged into this world filled with sharp teeth and pain and fear and so much blood. Derek is still so angry at that because out of all of them Stiles was the only one who stood a chance at a normal life. Scott was bitten and couldn’t just turn away. Allison was always going to pick up the mantel her family name bore on her shoulders. But Stiles? He chose this life. He chose to help Scott when he went to his best friend in fear and desperation. He was the one who taught him and trained him and sacrificed for him. Stiles was the one his best friend went after with claws and fangs and moonlust.

Derek had to work around all the anger he had at Stiles because it was just misplaced anger at himself. Yes, the teen blindly threw himself into things without a thought about his own safety. But Derek was the reason why Stiles was neck deep in all of this. Scott went to Stiles for help because Derek wasn’t there. Derek was the reason Stiles was put into danger. Derek was the reason Stiles was forced to watch Peter tear apart the girl he was hopelessly in love with right in front of him. Because of Derek and his continuous fuck ups, Stiles is the one that has nightmares about his Uncle, about his kidnapping, and the offer of the bite. And yet Derek was always the one who asked Stiles, again and again, to help knowing that it made him a target and knowing that he would always say yes. Derek was the one that Stiles made sacrifices for. He growls at the sudden strike of fury at himself boiling up in his chest. He breathes in deeply through his nose and wills himself to calm down.

Tonight, he was the one who put Stiles in danger. He was the one that was blinded by his rage. He was the one that was the threat. He stops running to sink to his knees in the dirt. He pants as he curls his hands into fists on his thighs. He throws his head up to the waning evening sun. He will be damned if he becomes anything like Peter. He won’t harm his pack. Not again, never again. Even if he butchers every other aspect of being an Alpha, he will protect them from any harm that comes their way. He will rip apart anything that threatens them even if that threat is Derek himself. His wolf rumbles its approval. He wills it to shut the fuck up. Claws scrape at denim as he sighs into the quiet dark. He is exhausted either from the running or the rehashed psychological struggle he finally battled through. But he still isn’t done living through the terrors in his own head.

“Laura.”

The initial betrayal and shock he felt has worn off because what Stiles was saying made sense. It fit with the gaps where Laura went off by herself both when they were still picking themselves back up after the fire in California and the times she ran off in New York. He never asked her where she went and what she did or why she immediately headed to the shower each time she came back. He didn’t feel like he could ask like he even deserved to question her after what he did. He had told her the night of the fire in tears who did it and how he was responsible. She had held him and murmured that it was okay. That everything was okay when it really, really wasn’t and might never be okay again. He didn’t know if she didn’t lash out at him because she was the one that encouraged his relationship with Kate or because she was grieving too much for it to register. But she never lashed out at him, never was angry at him, and never said anything about it being his fault. Because it will always be his fault for not seeing past his emotions and hormones, for ignoring the pull of his instincts and his wolf telling him to cull the relationship, telling him that his body was wrong, his mind was wrong, that  _she was wrong_.

He handled the guilt with silence and struggled to not let it swallow him whole. He handled it by working out, by pushing himself, and by building walls to protect himself from the things that hurt him and the things that could hurt him still. He became closed off and cold, and it suited him just fine. Laura dealt with her own pain by talking and writing things down. He still had some of her old journals tucked into the trunk of his car. She wrote and wrote and talked and talked, and she’d always come away lighter, more calm. Stiles reminded him of Laura sometimes. The constant noise that fell from his mouth, the humming of songs under his breath, the fact that he couldn’t let an awkward silence lie; it was so Laura that it almost ached on occasion. Like the time Stiles started humming _Everlong_ , her favorite song, while researching. Which is maybe why he reacted so strongly to what Stiles was saying. That Laura would do that, would fall into a relationship with a hunter, _with an Argent_ , after his own wretched mistake that burned their whole world to the ground.

But it made sense. It all made such blindingly obvious sense. Laura’s control was so shaky at first. It worse than his now, but it got better after her clandestine meetings in California that she never talked about, and then after a week in New York, she came home with iron clad control and a sort of restful peace that managed to sooth even his frazzled emotions. He never pushed, never asked, because he was too busy wallowing in guilt. And then the information in that book, it had to come from a wolf. They were in California long enough for Laura to share information with Fenris...

Jesus Christ, he was an idiot. He had always assumed she went to visit Peter. If she was sharing information with Fenris and he had something published, even if it was just one book, then it would be more than enough to pull attention to their world. There were always people of their kind keeping a close watch on whatever information was being brought to light about werewolves. The only reason they let _Twilight_ slide was because it was filled with so much bullshit that it was actually hilarious. But if Laura was the one sharing secrets… It wouldn’t just be the wolves that would be after her. It would be the hunters too. In big cities like New York territory was transient. There were no big packs in the city. Omegas had freedom to roam, and so did the hunters. They had connections that kept them in the know. He heard rumors of an Argent blowing into town… right around the time Laura’s control got miraculously good.

“God damn it,  _Laura_.”

He feels guilt sink under his skin clawing at his heart. He always feels guilty. But this time it’s for not noticing and not making those connections sooner. He feels hurt too. For her not trusting him with this. For her not sharing this with him when they had always shared everything before. Somehow that bites at him deeper than the ever-present guilt. Because he would have been happy for her even, even if it was an Argent, even if it was Chris. Yes, she was his Alpha. But she was also his sister, and he just wanted her to be happy again. And the man that made her happy is still in town. Derek pulls himself from the ground and from his emotions, squares his shoulders, and starts toward his apartment. He wants an answer, and he sure as hell is going to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not the chapter I had planned when I started writing it. Probably why it has taken so long to update now that I think about it. This has taking a huge turn from what I was expecting this chapter to be. I know I promised a tear jerker for Chapter 9, but I needed to fit in another Derek POV. I had to. But trust me, get those tissues ready because chapter 10? Left me a sobbing mess, and I’m writing the damn thing. 
> 
> Also I’ve noticed that Marked, Maimed, Claimed has been featured on quite a few rec lists on Tumblr. I am absolute shit at writing summaries/descriptions, so if anyone wants to rework a general description for this story have at it.


	10. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek manages to smirk at him before his brain catches up to what Stiles said.
> 
> “What do you mean life threatened by Leprechauns?”
> 
> Stiles just shakes his head and fixes him with a look equal parts determined and scandalized. 
> 
> “We don’t talk about the Leprechauns, Derek.”

When Derek finally gets to his apartment and walks out to his car, the last thing he expects to see is Stiles’ bright blue jeep blocking the driveway. Derek vaguely toys with the idea of taking the bike and just driving past him since he has the Camaro blocked in. Before he has time to act, the teen waves him over looking more impatient than angry. Ignoring an unmoving Derek, he leans over and pops open the passenger side door.  
  
“Get in. I’m not letting you walk into Argent’s house alone.”  
  
Derek tries to keep his face neutral. He had always known that Stiles was sharper than most gave him credit for. But it’s still hard for him to accept that Stiles can predict his actions so easily. It makes his preverbal hackles raise. He throws out a retort, harsh and angry, before he can catch himself.  
  
“Afraid that I’ll kill first, ask questions later?”  
  
Stiles had mumbled that once to Scott when he thought Derek couldn’t hear. Derek wasn’t known for his peaceful thinking when people were shooting at him. And with the incident in his bedroom just a few hours ago and now, Derek attacking him again verbally… Derek doesn’t blame Stiles for thinking that he’s nothing but an angry, bloodthirsty beast. Stiles surprises him by shrugging as he pulls out of the driveway once Derek climbs in.  
  
“More worried that Argent will shoot first, ask questions never.”  
  
There is truth there, but it is almost a lie in what he’s not admitting. Derek wants to feel annoyed at Stiles' lack of trust, but he gets that he never really did anything to endear him to the kid before. He definitely ruined whatever faith there was between them when he skipped out on them. But it’s enough that Stiles is concerned about Derek going into a hunter’s den alone. It’s more than enough for his wolf to settle because Stiles is pack, and he’s acting like it. Stiles cuts off his train of thought side eying him as he stops at the end of the street.  
  
“You alright, Big Bad?”  
  
He snorts at the reference but doesn’t say anything else. They ride the rest of the way in silence which Derek appreciates. When they do finally stop a few houses down from the Argent’s, Derek nods his head in Stiles’ direction and reaches for the door handle. He leans forward to open the door, but Stiles catches hold of his jacket and pulls him back.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Derek tries to move, but Stiles adjusts his grip and manages to pull him further away from the door.  
  
“Just, hold on.”  
  
He reluctantly stays. Stiles’ hand not leaving his jacket while both of them watch the Argent’s house with keen eyes. Derek is rewarded minutes later with the sounds of the garage opening and a sleek black car pulling out and heading up the street opposite their direction. The hedges they’re parked behind are blocking the jeep from the car enough not to be seen. Stiles lets go of his jacket and goes for the door. Derek just sits there. Reading his confusion, Stiles explains.  
  
“Allison’s mom is head of the PTA. They have meetings every 3rd of the month. I figured you’d want as little an audience as possible for this. And Victoria? _Way_ scarier than Chris on a bad day.”  
  
Derek can only follow him out. The women were always the leaders in his family too. When they reach the front door, the teen hesitates as his resolve and confidence stumble. Derek reaches past him to knock at the door. Stiles catches his wrist.  
  
“I’m not going to stop you from getting your answers. After my mom died, I wanted them too. It's just sometimes the answers you get aren’t what you want to hear. For me, they-they weren’t, but I needed to hear them anyway. I needed to know.”  
  
He nods as Stiles looks at him, really looks at him. Derek lets him. Whatever he finds must be what he was looking for because he turns to the door and plasters on a smile before he presses the doorbell. When Chris Argent comes to the door, the only surprise he shows at seeing half of the Hale pack on his doorstep is the widening of his eyes and a skip of his heart. Derek opens his mouth and shuts it just as fast courtesy of Stiles' heel digging into his foot. Derek glares at the back of his head.

“Hi, Mr. Argent! Could we come in? Derek has something he wants to ask.”

Argent glances past them looking for Scott and Allison, or an ambush probably, before turning that calculating look to Stiles then to Derek. That look lingers on Derek. He takes care to keep his face blank. It would be better to have this away from prying eyes. Cautiously, Argent steps aside and waves Stiles and Derek in. Derek takes Stiles’ elbow and jerks him to the side so he can squeeze past Argent. He’d rather not have his back to a hunter at all but better him than Stiles if he decides to try anything. Stiles ambles into the warm, plush living room like he’s done it a thousand times before. He probably has for all Derek knows. He is Allison’s friend after all. He plops on the couch and offers Derek a cheery grin. He only knows it’s forced because there’s a twitch in his jaw. Derek lowers himself next to Stiles and waits for Chris to sit.

“So what do I owe the pleasure?”

Derek narrows his eyes at the man's smug tone. The only reason Derek hasn't slammed Chris Argent to the ground is because Stiles is radiating anxiety. The smell is thick around him and coats Derek’s tongue. He counts to ten, forces his anger down, and locks eyes with Argent.

“I’m here to talk about Laura.”

* * *

The look that Stiles saw on Argent's face on the lacrosse field... he knows what it is now. He’s seen it on his dad’s face too. It is heartbreak and soul devouring loss. Stiles' mouth moves before his brain can catch up (and that’s nothing new really).  
  
“You were hers weren’t you? Her mate?”  
  
Stiles can only watch as Chris Argent crumbles before them at his words. The sure, vigilant, ever ready hunter they’ve known disappears. His voice is barely above a whisper.  
  
“Yes. I was her mate… and she was mine.”  
  
Derek’s growl startles Stiles. Derek has always had ironclad control over himself, but now... Stiles knows he's still struggling with the inherited Alpha power. He told them that, showed them, warned Allison and him away near full moons, and kept his lack of control hidden and secret to protect his pack. But Chris just gives them a broken, watery eyed smile. Like he expected the reaction. Like he welcomes it.

Derek leans forward, claws out, and Stiles scrambles to rein him back in. He snags Derek's wrist and tightens his fingers around skin and bone. He tries to give Derek comfort or at least remind him that he can’t exactly jump the coffee table and kill the man. Slowly, Derek sinks back into the couch, posture still stiff and alert, but as normal as an Alpha sitting in a hunter’s den can be. He doesn’t try to shake Stiles’s hand off, so Stiles loosens his grip and turns back to Chris Argent. His mind hungry for answers, but he keeps his voice gentle.  
  
“That’s why you can’t separate Allison from Scott. That’s why you’re letting them see each other because Allison and Scott are mates.”  
  
Derek doesn’t say a word, even if Stiles can feel his eyes boring into the side of his skull, as Chris nods at him. It’s sad and small, and Stiles doesn’t have it in him to dislike the hunter anymore. Stiles might not agree with how he does things, but he can’t find it in him to hate a man who is living with a broken heart. He can’t hate a man that reminds him so much of his dad. But Stiles doesn’t have to like him.  
  
“You cheated on your wife with Laura.”  
  
Derek’s voice is surprisingly calm when he speaks.

“I’m not saying what he did was right. But it, it isn’t something bound by contracts or laws or even gender or sexual orientation. It is deeper than that. Your… _mate_ ,” he grates out, “is your balance, your other half. They make you better. They make you whole.”  
  
Chris runs a shaky hand through his hair. Derek stares at him like he’s looking at him through brand new eyes. He’s looking at him like he’s an answer to a question he didn’t know he had. Chris takes a slow breath and turns to Stiles.  
  
“Victoria is my wife. I love her. But Laura, I loved Laura more than anything else in this world.”

Stiles is trying to wrap that around his head when Derek shifts. Suddenly, there is anger lining every muscle in his body. 

“You followed her back to Beacon Hills because you wanted to find out who killed her.”

Argent rests a hand across his brow before shaking his head gently. He opens his mouth to talk, but Stiles cuts in. He knows Derek has questions he wants to ask. But one look out of the corner of his eye tells him that Derek’s having too much trouble controlling his emotions to do the asking. And to be fair, he kind of hijacked the little Q&A session in the first place.

“Let’s back it up a little here. We know that she was Fenris’ informant. That’s where she got on your radar,” he remembers the hunters, the fire, and amends his sentence, “again.”

“I wasn’t directly involved before. I found out about her while I was investigating Dr. Fenris. Our people had him discredited and made sure that his research would never be taken seriously.”

Stiles leans forward letting his hands move as he talked.  
  
“But he had barely exposed anything about hunters in his book. He leaves vague hints at best. What he was sharing about werewolves though? Nearly everything was correct. Wolves had more reason to investigate than you guys.”

Chris shrugs and motions at Stiles.  
  
“You take a threat to your pack seriously. We do the same. He put all our lives at risk, all of our families. No matter how vague, it wasn’t a chance we were willing to take.”  
  
Derek makes a soft noise that sounds like resigned agreement.

“We managed to get a cell number from his informant. I traced it back to New York. Back to Laura.”

Chris takes a moment to breathe, eyes closed, before he speaks again.  
  
“I hadn’t planned on confronting her at all. But I was hungry for answers. Not just about that book and why she would even help Fenris at all, but about the fire. I knew Kate had something to do with it. I could feel her hands all over it, but I could never make the connection. Victoria and I, our relationship was strained at that time. She was keeping something from me.”

His hands grate roughly against his half beard working his jaw twice before dropping them back to the armrest and continuing with a wry grin on his face.

“I didn’t even mean to meet Laura then. I was too close, and she caught my scent. Before I knew it I was lying flat on my back, and I swear if all the air wasn’t knocked out of me it would have been the first time I looked into her eyes.”

Derek snorts, and Stiles glances at him. His face is carefully controlled, but his eyes are furious. Warning bells start blaring in Stiles' head.

“You just let the woman you love gallivant off to the place where someone was leaving vendetta spirals, on mauled animals, all over town? You don’t show up until two hikers trip over half her body? No, you’re too busy playing the big bad veteran werewolf hunter.”

Stiles grips at his wrist again, but Derek tugs it away. He leans forward, and Stiles swears he can see elongated teeth. He ignores Stiles calling his name. Stiles can see that his sole focus is the pale faced man sitting across from him.

“You roll into town guns blazing, accusing innocent kids that got dragged into this mess against their will, and harassing me when all I was trying to do was what you should have been doing the second she missed your first phone call.”

Chris rears back like he’s been slapped, but his shock doesn’t last long. His voice rings out against the high vaulted ceilings, and Stiles spares a second to thank whatever benevolent deity is out there that no one is home to hear this.

“I thought it was you! I thought you killed her because you found out about us!”  
  
Derek stands and towers over the coffee table leaning menacingly into Argents’ space. His eyes are completely red and his fangs are out. Stiles scrambles up next to him.  
  
“I would _never_. She was all I had left. I would have never gone against her, not even when she found love in an Argent.”  
  
The last words are said like a curse. Chris sits there with a face paler than Stiles ever thought any face can get. Stiles wraps a hand around Derek’s bicep, pulls him back to the couch, and keeps hold of it until Derek’s eyes slowly bleed out the red until they are their normal hazel. Chris looks at his hands clenched into fists on his lap.  
  
“I know that now, and I knew it then. Rationally, I knew that, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I tore up my whole family and transplanted them here because the thought of letting anyone else find out who killed her, if it wasn’t me to tear them in half…”  
  
Angry tears fall down his face. He wipes at them quickly. Derek doesn't show him any pity. Stiles doesn't blame him.  
  
“I want the treaty to work, for her. Allison deserves to be happy. She deserves to be loved like that. I don’t want her to go through losing her-her… I never want her to feel what I feel.”  
  
“You should have protected her.”  
  
It’s more harsh whisper than words. Stiles wraps his fingers around his Alpha’s wrist again and squeezes. He knows that Derek is filled to the brim with guilt and buried in long collected and festering pain. He can hear his own admission in his words projected at Chris. Derek should have protected Laura, his pack, his family, his Alpha.  
  
“I tried. God, I tried. But you know Laura.”  
  
The fight seems to drain right out of Derek. He slumps into the couch and nods, staring listlessly at his knees. Stiles can almost see the way Derek gives himself over to the grief, his body seeming to collapse in on itself for two long heartbeats, before beating it down again. He squares his shoulders in a way that Stiles can only describes as graceful and lifts his head to meet Chris’s gaze. His eyes are hard and determined.  
  
“Allison is pack. She will always have my protection. She may be an Argent, but the symbol she bears now is Hale. She is _mine_. My pack. My family.”

He waits until Argents acknowledges his claim with a sharp nod.  
  
“You have my pack’s alliance. The truce will hold because I owe my pack that. That’s all I’m willing to give. And honestly? That’s the least Laura would expect of me.”

Chris nods again. His fingers flex on his thighs with the need to do something more. Derek stares at him for a half second more before dropping his eyes to the smooth dark hardwood coffee table separating them. Stiles clears his throat.

“Last item of business for the night. I’ll be your contact within the pack.”  
  
Derek stiffens next to him but doesn’t make any attempt to shut him up. Stiles focuses on Chris with hands dangling from his knees.  
  
“If you keep pulling Allison into this, keep putting her in the middle, the only thing you’re going to do is make her resent it and you. If you have anything you need to discuss or announce, you find me. Not Scott, not Mrs. McCall, not Derek. _Me_. And don't send one of your lackeys either. Mano-e-mano.”

Argent stares at him coolly, like his Earth wasn’t just rearranged a few minutes ago, and nods. He reaches out his hand, and Stiles shakes it all under the watchful eye of his Alpha.

“You have my number.”

Stiles nods and remains standing. He looks over Chris, the heavy set of her shoulders, the crease on his brow, and jerks his head toward the door.

“We’ll see ourselves out.”  
  
Derek follows him and keeps himself between Argent and Stiles again. He understands that Derek’s emotions are all over the place. He sees Chris as some sort of threat. But Stiles doesn’t need him to be acting like he’s some sort of damsel needing her honor defended. He can deal with a hunter. His dad’s been training him in self-defense for years. Allison’s been training him for a few months. When he says as much to Derek, the werewolf just pushes his shoulder roughly in the direction of his jeep. It’s not until they’re at the stop sign at the end of the block that he speaks.

“Mano-e-mano, Stiles? You really think I’m going to let you meet with him? Alone?”

Stiles just grins.

“Yep.”

He makes sure to make the P pop just to make some noise in the silence of the jeep. When Derek just glares (with not nearly half as much anger and hatred that he did at Chris), Stiles makes a show of rolling his eyes.

“Seriously? Even before you knew about _it,_   you'd both rather glare at each other than pass information along. I am the best solution. It would tear Allison to pieces if we asked her to do it. You know it would. It hurt her enough to choose between them and us. Her mom is finally starting to acknowledge her existence again.”  
  
Stiles lets that sink in. He chose he words carefully. He didn’t say not talk to her. He meant acknowledge because for the first four months Victoria wouldn’t even admit she had a daughter while Allison was at home. It was rough. Chris had tried his best to comfort Allison, but it wasn't enough. How many times did Allison fall asleep in Stiles’ bed because she didn’t want to go home and didn’t want to worry Scott any more than necessary? Derek opens his mouth and closes it, not knowing what to say, so Stiles plows on ahead.  
  
“Scott couldn't handle the pressure. I’m not saying he’s some potato. He’s smart, but he’s kind of naïve sometimes. Like he thought cooties were an actual disease and made his mom run his blood work when he was six to test for it. It was kind of hilarious.”

With another pointed glare from Derek, Stiles clears his throat and steers his brain back to the conversation.

“Yeah, but what I was saying is that he could handle it _if_ he had to. But I don’t want to make him. He’d be worried about doing what’s best for pack and trying not to make his pseudo in laws mad at him. Besides, I’m not 100% certain Victoria wouldn’t try to kill him.”

Derek lifts an eyebrow at that statement. Stiles just shrugs. He at least could take Chris’s word with 97% faith. Victoria though? He didn’t know what the woman was capable of, and he sure as hell never wanted to find out.

“Besides,” he adds as he shifts gears, “I’m the most neutral party.”  
  
“Technically, you aren’t.”

Stiles clenches his jaw and adjusts his hands on the wheel. He makes a mental note that pissed off, emotionally distraught Derek doesn’t pull his punches (and is more of a dick than usual). Because he knows exactly who Derek is talking about.

* * *

“He might be pack by association, but he is not getting into the middle of this. Over my dead body.”

The steely glint in his eyes as he glares at Derek tells him to back the fuck off. The Sheriff is not an option. That's one of the things that makes Stiles a good pack member. His fierce devotion to those he cares about; his loyalty. The other is his perceptiveness and his intuition. He is a cop’s son after all, but Stiles has an uncanny ability to just understand. It's one of the reasons Peter wanted to bite him. Derek shuts down that train of thought and buries it 7 feet under little league memories.  
  
“So consider agreeing to this as your apology for trying to actually make good on your promise of ripping my throat out with your teeth.”  
  
His tone is joking, but Derek stiffens in his seat.  
  
“Stiles.”

* * *

One day, Stiles is going to ask Derek how he packs so much into just his name. But today is not that day.

“No, stop. Just stop. I knew there was a chance you'd react badly. Honestly, I was betting on you getting all snarly. But I knew you wouldn't hurt me, Derek.”

Derek snaps to face him so fast that Stiles thinks he hears something snap.  
  
“You have claw marks in your wall that say otherwise.”  
  
Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but he sees Derek's hand clench into fists.  
  
“I could smell your fear.”

A snort leaves Stiles' mouth before he thinks better of it.  
  
“Just like those times you threw me against a wall or, my personal favorite, that one time you slammed my head into my steering wheel?”  
  
Derek glares at him, and he can’t help the nervous chuckle that spill out of his mouth.  
  
“You were already backing down. But yeah, I was scared. But not because of you. I haven’t been truly, really scared of you in a long time, man. You might have been trying to intimidate me through physical violence, but you also warned me about Peter and came after me.”

He can see Derek gearing up to say something, so he cuts him off.

“Dude, you crawled through broken glass in the opposite direction to get him away from me. _You wouldn't hurt me_.”  
  
He knows that Derek can't deal with the trust Stiles has in him; even if it’s only in his ability to keep him safe. Derek can't deal with the emotions. But Derek can apparently deal with the sharp uptake in Stiles' heartbeat when he mentions his uncle’s name if the dark, ground out words mean anything.  
  
“I reminded you of Peter.”

Stiles winces.  
  
“Yeah.”

He has to swallow and start again forcing the flicker of images that fly through his head out.

“I know you're not him. You're _nothing_ like him. I know that. But it was just similar to when, to when he offered me the bite.”  
  
Derek goes rigid in the seat next to him. Stiles watches out of the corner of his eye as Derek forces himself to control the shift. He watches Derek's fingers clench and unclench against his thighs. He wonders how badly he wants to let his claws slip out to ease the sudden tension in his body. He knows without a doubt that he is forcing back the Alpha’s protective instincts. Stiles wasn’t pack before Peter, but he is now and that makes it even more confusing. The instincts to protect are warring with his rationality. It probably helps that he can smell the sharp sting of anger that only Peter can pull out of Stiles, and the embarrassment of the whole situation that makes his neck flush, that pulls Derek back. They drive in silence for a while, Derek staring at his still dull human hands. 

“I'm sorry. I should have-“  
  
Stile shakes his head and flails an arm in his direction.  
  
“Nah, dude. Wasn't your fault. He was stronger than you, and he played us all.”

He sees Derek bite back his customary “don’t call me dude” retort.  
  
“I am sorry, Stiles.”  
  
He shrugs.  
  
“It's not that _that_ scares me. It's just, he made me so helpless. He forced me to track Scott, then to track you, and then what he did to Lydia. I had no power against him. I was completely helpless.”

Derek’s voice is strong and sure in the confined space of the Jeep.  
  
“You're not anymore.”  
  
Stiles grins and reaches back to tap his bag where his taser is hiding no doubt.  
  
“Yep. I've got my small arsenal of customized weapons.”

Derek rolls his eyes at his proud grin.  
  
“And me. And Scott and Allison. You've got pack now.”  
  
Stiles nods a small, honest smile tugging at his lips instead of his wide nonchalant grin before his face turns serious.

“When are you going to tell Scott that Allison is his mate? Because I am not touching that conversation with a ten foot pole.”  
  
Derek actually laughs. A full on chuckle. He actually snorts a little.   
  
“You really believed the whole mate thing?”

Stiles lets the jeep idle at a stop sign to stare at Derek. He stares so long he has to blink, repeatedly.

“Sometimes, I can’t tell when you’re kidding.”

* * *

Derek thumps the metal of the Jeeps’ door under his thumb. He has to fight to keep get his breathing even again.

“I’m not kidding.”

He can feel Stiles’ eyes on him and he can almost hear his brain kicking into high gear and absorbing the information and spitting out conclusions and questions and theories.  
  
“So what you're saying is... it's magic.”

Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles takes a right turn clearly to avoid the ID checkpoint that Derek can hear a mile up ahead.

“It's not magic. _I'm_ not magic.”  
  
Now, it’s Stiles’ turn to snort.

“You seem to be forgetting the fact that you kind of are.”

Derek forces himself not to roll his eyes because they’re beginning to feel like they might actually roll out of his head. He will never understand Stiles. How can someone just accept the fact that his best friend is a werewolf, that werewolves are real, in less than 8 hours but can’t wrap his head around the fact that something as asinine as werewolves having mates when an actual werewolf is telling him that is completely bogus.

“I'm a werewolf, Stiles. I'm a product of nature not some witch’s cauldron.”  
  
He can see the gleam in the teen’s eyes that signals the buildup to an epic rant. Derek heads that off fast. He’s dealt with enough today.

“How many cultures have records about shape shifters? Skin walkers? Every society since the dawn of time has passed on written and oral histories about our kind in some form. We've been present just as long as humans have, maybe longer.”

Stiles sits silently while he absorbs this information. It isn’t long before he’s talking again.  
  
“So what? It's like love at first sight. Or just falling in love in general?”

Derek drags a hand across his face because he just won’t let it go. Stiles must take Derek’s annoyance as an answer because he forges on.  
  
“So it's completely natural. Except you're werewolves, so it is completely supernatural.”

Derek closes his eyes and rubs at them. 

“Stiles.”

When he looks back up, Stiles is beaming at him. He’s having fun with this. _The little shit_. But Stiles waves his arm at him; something that he must think is placating. Derek just wants to snap at the fingers flying too close to his face.  
  
“No man, let me work through this. It makes sense. It does. But are you trying to tell me that it’s basically like falling in love except to the extreme? It's kind of crazy.”

A growl almost makes his way out of Derek's throat before he clamps down on his irritation. His control is better now, a hell of a lot better away from Argent, but he’ll be damned if he slips again because Stiles is prodding at him unknowingly or not.

“No, what's crazy is you actually believing the shit you read on the Internet about werewolves mating for life when you flat out refused to believe a silver bullet can kill us.”

Derek knows he said the wrong thing because Stiles holds up his finger in a universal “ _You know…_ ” gesture.  
  
“Because the silver bullet myth is biologically and chemically impossible. Silver has no effect on anything except unbalancing the meta-“

“ _Stiles_ , the point?”

Stiles shoulders hunch up by his ears just to drop again before he takes another turn.   
  
“Because it makes sense?”  
  
Derek’s groan comes out with a little more infliction. Stiles throws his hands out at the dashboard.  
  
“Come on! Its way more logical than saying you guys basically fall in love and fall in love hard. Like, you’re the champions at the extreme sport of _lurve_. It's ridiculous! And it’s the only information I could find! Anywhere!”  
  
Derek pinches his nose and sighs. He'd figured he would have to tell his pack eventually or that Stiles would pry and dig and annoy him until he told him sooner than the others, but it’s still something he doesn't like to talk about.  
  
“You called Lara his mate. But that’s not entirely right.”  
  
_See_ , _there he goes digging for an answer_. Derek had almost forgotten that Stiles is worse than a dog with a bone.  
  
“But he thought he was.”

When the silence continues, Derek drops his hand away from his nose. He may as well get it over with. Stiles can tell the rest of the pack.  
  
“For all he knows, he is, but that’s not what we call it. That not what it really is. We just let the hunters think that's what it is.”

To his credit, Stiles waits four blocks before he rolls his hand in a continue gesture.  
  
“They aren't our mates. Not really and not like that. But what I said is true. They are our other halves. They are our soulmates if you will. They are our matches in every way. My family called them Eros. It literally means lover, friend, companion. My father told me that it means all those things but more. He told me that it means everything that makes up love. He told me it means heart.”

Derek watches the streets pass unwilling to look at Stiles because he doesn’t want him to see how much this hurts to talk about. He might not like talking about it but, Stiles deserves to know. So does Allison and Scott. They are pack, and this is pack history, pack tradition, and pack truth. He shrugs his shoulders trying to displace the heavy weight that settles there so easily when he thinks about his family.

“My mom just said that they would be the love of our lives."

He laughs quietly to himself.

"She hated my dad ay first. Couldn't stand him and how quiet he always was, how stoic. But he was exactly what she needed. He was her rock. He was her calm, her quiet. They balanced each other. My dad had been in love before, but she died when they were teens. Car accident. But if that never happened then he wouldn't be the man my mother needed. He wouldn’t have been her other half.”

Stiles makes a gentle noise in the back of his throat. He waits until they’ve starting moving again after getting stopped at a red light to talk again.  
  
“But people can have more than one love.”

Derek nods.  
  
“So can werewolves.”

Stiles shoots him a cocked eyebrow.

“We don't mate for life. We are still mostly humans after all. But our instincts, well... We are serious serial monogamist. It's the wolf in us that makes it hard to handle the loss. Most Eros-”

“Become your anchors.”

He might not understand Stiles, but he will always appreciate his innate ability to just get it. To understand something without having to be taught or told. The unwavering instinct to just know. Even if he likes being a giant pain in the ass sometimes and pretends to be ignorant just to get all the miniscule details.  
  
“So Peter went feral because not only did he lose his entire family and his anchor, but he had a broken heart. Jesus Christ. I kind of don’t hate the guy so much anymore.”

Derek remains quiet because he knows what’s coming.  
  
“What about you and...”  
  
Derek can almost taste the ashes on his tongue, but he forces himself to shrug a shoulder.

“Like I said, we are still human. We can still screw around. Besides if all that mate bullshit was true-“  
  
“That'd be way fucked up.”

Derek glances at Stiles. His focus is on the road.   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Stiles quickly changes the subject.

“So they think that mates are magically bound. If a werewolf was to lose their mate, they’d lose their mind, go feral, and basically slaughter anything in their path from grief. But humans won’t be affected that way, so you’re covering your tracks and adding another layer of protection for the ones you love."

Suddenly the morose, slightly intrigued look on Stiles' face lights up and turns into something more. Derek would dare to call it giddy.

“It’s kind of like the silver bullet myth. Nobody is going to correct it because it protects you. I mean you’ll still get shot, but it's not going to do any damage.”

“Head shots will still take us down.”

Stiles snorts.

“What I’m saying is that it’s really smart.”  
  
They end the ride together in silence. It’s not until they pull up in front of the McCall’s driveway leading up to the garage and his apartment that Stiles nods his head. Derek’s shutting the door to the jeep when Stiles catches his eye.  
  
“You're still telling Scott. Cause I can deal with insane werewolf legends, and hunters, and having my life threatened by Leprechauns, but telling him he's right about Allison being the love of his life after arguing with him about how love at first sight is bullshit? I just can't do it. My ego can't handle it or his shit eating grin.”  
  
Derek manages to smirk at him before his brain catches up to what Stiles said.

“What do you mean life threatened by Leprechauns?”

Stiles just shakes his head and fixes him with a look equal parts determined and scandalized.

“We don’t talk about the Leprechauns, Derek.”

He peels away before Derek can force him to explain exactly what the hell he was talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to make you guys wait so long for another chapter. But life happens. I’ve had two deaths in my family (one blood and another that I consider blood, biology be damned), and it kind of threw me for a loop. I’ve poked at this chapter on and off but it's safe to say that I haven’t been in the mood to write or edit. But I’m starting to churn things out again and glad for the distraction.
> 
> Also make sure to check out the edited tags, and the newly corrected notes in previous chapters. I added in some information my spastic mind left out that’s kind of important to the story and will help clear some things up. Once again, sorry for the wait. I made this chapter extra long as an apology. I hope you enjoy :)


	11. Reconnaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "See Scott. He likes us. He really likes us."

Monday afternoon finds Stiles laying on his back, head tipped over the edge of the still solid Hale house porch, watching an upside down Scott and Derek maneuver a chest of drawers into a massive U-Haul. Allison is busy texting her father. He’s been more… talkative since the gps tracker incident. He texts her every hour on the hour without fail. Stiles' dad just reminds him not the piss off any supernatural beings as he hugs him on the way out the door in the morning or evenings as it may be. But not everyone’s father-child relationship can be as solid as Stiles and his dad’s. Derek pulls him from his musing with a shout.

“You could be helping instead of daydreaming.”

Stiles doesn’t move other than to prop one of his legs up on the front door jam.

“That couch almost took me out. I deserve a break, dude.”

Derek glowers in his direction.

“Don’t call me dude. And that couch wouldn’t have slipped if you would have stopped laughing about pivoting with Scott.”

Scott finishes hauling his end of the armoire, dusty but otherwise in okay condition, into the U-Haul.

“That was a hilarious _Friends_ episode, Derek. You have no idea what you’re missing!”

Stiles throws his hand out toward Scott in agreement. Derek grunts and hefts an end table, that needs sanding and a new coat of varnish, into the truck too. Which reminds Stiles…

“Why are we here anyway?”

Derek gives him _that_ look again. Stiles is starting to really, really hate that look. Derek had mentioned that he wanted to clear out the house, figure out which stuff was salvageable, and start the preparation for the renovation and rebuild. Stiles just didn’t think that meant him. Derek's voicemail of _get your ass over to the house, Stilinski_ led him to believe something happened. Not that he’d be almost dropping a half ton bookshelves on his feet and tripping backwards down stairs.

“I mean me and Allison when you and Scott got the whole supernatural strength thing going on.”

Derek rolls his eyes. Possibly. His back is turned, but Stiles thinks that those are his eye rolling shoulders. Maybe. He’s still trying to get the hang of reading Derek. He’s got most of the eyebrows down though.

“Because lifting heavy ass furniture by yourself is annoying, and why do manual labor alone when you have three lazy teenagers to cut the time in half?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Allison giggles because it probably looks extremely weird with him being upside down. He rolls to his side and sits up, blinking at the sudden righting of his vision.

“You can’t call this a pack meeting if all we’re doing is being your underage physical laborers. We aren’t even getting paid for this. We don’t even get snacks, man.”

Derek raises his head to the heavens, and Stiles thinks that he hears Derek beg for patience. Stiles darts his eyes over to Scott who is laughing softly to himself and grins. When he does look back to Derek, he’s leaning into the cab of the moving truck and pulling out a cooler. He notices that Derek keeps his face blank as he makes his way over to where Allison and Stiles are holding court on the porch steps. Stiles leans down to ruffle Scott’s hair where he’s leaning on Allison’s shins.

“See Scott. He likes us. He really likes us.”

Derek takes the cooler back from where he was placing it near Stiles and glares at him. He sets it by Allison instead and folds himself into a seat on the ground opposite Scott. He starts handing out sandwiches and chips while Scott pulls out drinks. He reluctantly gives a sandwich to Stiles.

“Tell me what’s been happening.”

His eyes are on Scott, all demanding and hard. Stiles tries and fails to suppress a snort.

“You can try to Jedi mind trick him all you want. He’s not going to tell you about the Leprechauns.”

Scott shudders and shakes his head, face screwed up into an affronted grimace.

“We don’t talk about the Leprechauns, Derek.”

When the Alpha goes to open his mouth, Allison cuts him off with a kind, if not forced, smile.

“They’re not going to be a problem anymore, but trust me when I say you really don’t want to know.”

Begrudgingly, Derek nods and bites into his sandwich. After he chases it with a long gulp of Powerade, he tilts his head.

“How’s Jackson?”

"Jackson..." Scott starts off but turns to Stiles to finish. It’s a lot to tell, but at the same time it’s really not a lot to tell.

Jackson had done his best to ignore Stiles and Scott except to call them the usual names and make their lives an annoying hell on the lacrosse field. Well just Stiles, but he can hold his own now which Jackson definitely hates (if the amount of suicides he makes Stiles do at practice means anything). But he hasn’t said a word about what happened with Peter or asked about Derek. He had only spoken to Lydia once after she got out of the hospital. Jackson had even taken a step back when he saw the ring on Stiles' finger the morning after Derek got back. He’d gone silent and stiff and walked away. It was the only sign that showed he even thought about the whole _werewolves_ thing.

“…hasn’t brought it up or even tried to talk to us about it. He seemed to not want anything to do with us. So same old, same old.”

After a few minutes in almost friendly silence, Stiles plucks off a piece of crust and tosses it into his mouth.

“Soooo is anything up for discussion?”

Derek frowns into his sandwich.

“Short of Leprechauns apparently.”

Allison laughs a little. Derek’s head swivels to the sound, and he looks surprised, almost shocked. He has a pack that laughs at his jokes now, and he doesn’t know quite what to do with it. Stiles shakes his head quietly to himself. He kind of feels bad for picking a topic that will be sure to ruin whatever peace had been building.

“Alright, let’s talk.”

“About what?” Derek asks as he picks a bag of chips.

“Your control.”

If Stiles didn’t know the guy, he’d honestly think he was part statue for how rigid he’d gotten. His sandwich is hovering halfway to his mouth. Stiles uses his complete distraction to his advantage.

“In this pack, we’re all equals. Nobody is more important than another. Your problems are our problems. Literally.”

Derek glares at Stiles. He knows that look too. It’s one of the first he’d learned. It’s the _Stiles, you little shit_ look. Yeah, Stiles knows he's a little shit for throwing Derek words back at him, but if what Derek said was true, then his Alpha is going to hear him out whether he likes it or not. If Derek doesn’t have ironclad control, then he’s putting everyone at risk, not just them but the whole town and everyone in it.

“Just hear me out alright? Having a pack gives you strength, but it also gives you more control. It’s like a stabilizing agent. But you need a pack.”

Derek grinds his teeth. It doesn’t look too comfortable.

“I have pack. Scott, Allison, _you_.”

Stiles shrugs a shoulder.

“I’m not saying that you don’t. And I’m not saying Allison and I are worthless, but in this situation we kind of are. We’re not werewolves. We don’t have that connection to you. Hell, Scott doesn’t really have that same connection to you. It got kind of watered down in the process.”

Scott looks guilty at his sandwich. He’s the one that mentioned he was worried about the barely there bond between them affecting Derek’s control. Stiles truly does feel bad about bringing it up, but he’s not going to stop talking. Derek needs to deal with it; one way or another. Even if he really hates what Stiles says next.

“You need to think about expanding.”

Derek eyes widen in shock before they narrow in anger, hazel eyes bright with rage.

“Stiles, damn it. I’m not going to offer you the bite!”

Stiles, while he does try really, really hard not to react to Derek’s anger, never really did well with being dismissed. He yells right back.

“Why because we wouldn't be good werewolves?”

Scott is tense next to them. Allison has a hand on his shoulder and another edging closer to her bag. Derek still hasn’t broken his gaze, so Stiles cocks an eyebrow like Derek is so fond of doing. Derek seems to deflate a little at that, takes a breath, and picks at his ignored turkey and rye.

“No, because you don’t need to be.”

Stiles leans forward to clap him on the shoulder with a wry grin on his face.

“Yeah, we totally know. We’re awesome.”

Allison and Stiles fist bump without looking. Derek’s frown deepens and some of the anger comes rushing back into his tone. He knocks the teen’s hand away.

“You little sh-”

Stiles talks over him.

“But the real reason you didn’t ask? You know we don’t want it.”

Derek stills but nods after a long second of silence. Stiles swallows down the guilt he already feels for what he is about to say.

“But there are some people that might.”

Derek goes eerily still. Like he’s controlling the very atoms that make him up. Scott cuts in by actually raising his hand.

“I would just like to state for the record that I don’t condone doing this, at all.”

Stiles spares his best friend a glare before he rushes on while Derek is still processing what he’s implying.

“I’m not saying pull a Peter and go out frolicking in the woods at night biting random teenagers. I’m saying it’s a good idea to think about our options and have a plan in place.”

If glaring was an Olympic sport, Derek would have brought home the gold.

“This is a small town, with hunters gunning for me, for us, and we have the sheriff to worry about.”

Stiles plucks a slice of tomato from his sandwich and bites into it.

“Yeah, thought about that too. People that that fly under the radar. It would probably help that they may or may not be in a situation where the bite would benefit them in some way.”

Derek doesn’t deem him with an answer, but his eyebrows lower.

“You can tell if the bite will take right?”

Derek unclenches his jaw to speak.

“No.”

Stiles knows that forcing Derek to do anything he doesn’t want to or to even talk about something he doesn’t want to talk about was going to be a pain in the ass. He knows that Derek was going to revert back into his monosyllabic self sooner or later. Stiles takes the time to sip his drink and munch on some Doritos. He can wait it out.

“But…” he encourages.

Stiles eats half of his sandwich while he waits. Allison and Scott watch them curiously and a little bit warily.

“But there are certain… factors that will boost the chance of survival.”

Stiles nods knowingly.

“Needing the bite versus wanting it.”

Derek chomps down on his chips viciously. The look on his face seems to imply that he’d like it to be Stiles’ head instead of cheesy nacho goodness.

“Yes,” Derek nearly growls.

Graciously ignoring the murderous eating habits of his Alpha, Stiles makes a rolling motion with his free hand. The empty chip bag makes an ominous crunching sound in Derek’s palm.

“The bite can turn on you if you’re will isn’t strong enough. Wanting it doesn’t mean it will take. Needing it helps, but it’s not guaranteed either.”

Stiles nods solemnly, storing the information away.

“How about physical conditions? Like Scott’s asthma, or arthritis, injuries from accidents, or cognitive developments like stuttering and memory loss?”

Derek nods but huffs out a sigh.

“The bite is not a cure. It will repair anything that would hinder the transition from human to werewolf, but it wouldn’t repair a birth defect or a missing limb.”

Stiles open his mouth and closes it a few times before talking, voice edging higher in shock.

“You wanted me to cut off your arm! Knowing that you couldn’t, you wouldn’t- _Dude_!”

Scott punches Stiles lightly in the arm. Stiles shakes his head and narrows his eyes at Derek. They are so going to talk about this later. Derek shrugs.

“To have the chance to heal something that has been haunting you for years? Some people would take the chance in a heartbeat. Even if it was still just another 50/50 chance, they’d still take it.”

Derek’s eyebrows do some complicated dance on his face before settling in a flat line. Derek looks at Stiles and Allison with steady eyes.

“If it was a last resort. If something happened and I couldn’t get you to a hospital in time, would you take it? Would you take the bite?”

Allison shakes her head almost immediately.

“No, I know that being alive is better than being dead, and I know that being a werewolf isn’t some horrible world shattering thing. Trust me I know, but I wouldn’t be…”

She grips Scott's hand and smiles sadly.

"As strained as it is now, I would never be allowed to go back home. I don't think I could live without that more." _  
_

Derek nods, understanding easily read on his face, and turns to Stiles. Stiles studies his hands before answering. He's never had to struggle to try to find words before. 

“I would give anything to keep my dad from losing someone else, but I can’t ask you to do the same, Derek. You said it yourself. If the bite isn’t truly wanted, it can turn on you. It _will_ turn on you. I can’t ask you to give me the bite when I only want it to spare someone else. I can't ask you to do that, Derek. I won’t ask you to do that.”

Scott bumps into his leg, and Stiles nudges his shoulder with his hand as Derek watches them. He’s silent but looks calm and more settled knowing their answers even if they weren’t the ones he wanted to hear. 

“So," Stiles says breaking the quiet moment and kind of hating himself for it, "Like I said, we need to think about expanding the pack. We found some people that you might want to consider.”

Derek jumps up from where he was sitting to pace. It's little things like that, the sharp fluid movement from still to action, remind Stiles of the strength Derek has.

“You, Jesus Christ, did you start recruiting?”

Stiles snorts.

“No, we just did a little reconnaissance.”

Derek takes his time to wither a glare at the scraggly pack in front of him.

“You started picking people for me to bite. You call that reconnaissance? I thought you were preparing to shoot me full of wolfsbane and AgX.”

Stiles speaks around his last mouthful of ham and cheese. It's hard to swallow for a lot of reasons. 

“That was just a contingency plan. You have to prepare for anything and everything. We even dosed Peter’s grave with salt and brick dust after you split and then we laid down the mountain ash Dr. Deaton gave us.”

Derek snatches the Powerade bottle away from Stiles more in irritation at him than anger. Stiles brain supplies him with the rather useless thought of _that’s the last strawberry lemonade one_. Stiles jerks his head in an incredulous shake.

“What? You don’t know if he worked some hoodoo, and I for one would never like to find out. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Derek just keeps glowering at him. Stiles rolls his eyes and wipes his hand on his pants.

“So we did find some people…”

Derek looks like he’s seconds away from losing his shit when Allison speaks up, voice calm and steady.

“We know that we just sprung this on you, but Stiles is right. Derek, we need to be stronger. I know you don’t agree with how we are doing it, but just hear us out.”

He stops pacing, takes a deep breath, and rolls his shoulder back. It looks like he’s preparing for war.

“ _Fine,_ ” he grumbles as he sits back down.

When no fangs or flashing wild Alpha eyes make an appearance, Allison nods and starts off.

“Vernon Milton Boyd, IV. He prefers to be called Boyd. He’s my partner for biology. He’s quiet, doesn’t have any friends, and keeps to himself. He does have a big family, but I think they forget about him a lot. He told me that once that his mom forgot to pick him up from work. He’s smart, has good problem solving skills, and he’s big. He can handle himself.”

Derek nods but otherwise doesn’t say anything. Stiles expected as much. He takes a breath and gives Derek his candidate.

“There’s a kid on our lacrosse team; Isaac Lahey. He rarely talks, looks half dead all the time, and misses a decent amount of school. Not enough for the school to call child services in, not enough to be noticeable, but enough. He used to be friends with Matt, some creeper from the photography club, but they had a falling out after Isaac’s brother Cam died. That’s also around the time his mom left and his dad started beating him.”

Scott nudges his foot, and Stiles runs a hand through his hair.

“The thing is while everyone knows his dad is an abusive asshole, I mean Coach noticed and even tried to talk to him about the freaking bruises, nobody has ever seen it happen, so my dad can’t do jackshit about it.”

Derek’s eyes narrow at him, and he knows that Derek’s ignoring the whole keep your wolfy senses to yourself rule. Derek glares right back.

“Jackson lives right across the street from him. I’ve heard him tell one of the other guys on the team that Mr. Lahey knows how to throw a punch. But Jackson’s level of douchebaggery is beside the point. The point is Isaac doesn’t have anyone but an abusive father and a shitty job digging graves all night long. He could use somebody he can rely on, a family to keep him safe, the power to fight back… metaphorically at least.”

Derek seems to be actually thinking it over, but the look is gone in seconds. Almost simultaneously, all of their eyes fall to Scott. Who is idly playing with his thumbs. Allison and Stiles both smack him. She goes for the head, and Stiles goes for an ear.

“Jesus! Alright!”

He settles down but keeps mean mugging Stiles out of the corner of his eye.

“Stiles and I have gone to school with Erica Reyes our entire lives. But I’ve known her longer. She’s been one of my mom’s patients since she was born. She has epilepsy. She has seizures at random. Anything can set them off. Sometimes she’ll just shake for a few seconds. Other times it’ll last longer, up to nine minutes once, and she just loses control of everything. Some dick took a video of one of the bad ones and put it on the internet. She keeps to herself now, doesn’t speak even if spoken to, and has no friends because I think she wants it that way. Her dad is an insurance adjuster, so he’s always out of town. Her mom… she thought Erica was faking the seizures for a long time, so their relationship isn’t that great. She smart enough to be on the AB honor roll, but she misses a lot of class because of the seizures and the treatments she gets at the hospital.”

They all wait quietly as Derek processes everything. Derek nods once and snags the cooler, already headed back to the truck.

“That’s it?” Stiles calls out to him.

He shrugs a shoulder.

“I said I’d hear you out. I heard you out.”

Stiles flails his arms.

“Derek what about y-”

He turns around and glares at him

“My control is fine. When it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

He gnashes his fangs together to get his point across. Stiles just rolls his eyes. He knows that Stiles isn’t afraid of the wolf show anymore. But it’s cute that he still tries.

“You say that now…”

Derek stalks closer and grins at him with sharp,white teeth. Stiles smiles right back.

“I’ve listened to you proposition me to bite three of your peers, and I haven’t ripped your throat out yet. Not get your ass up and into the truck, all of you.”

Scott leans over and ruffles Stiles hair as they stand.

“He likes you. He really, really likes you.”

Stiles flips him off and shoves him away as he laughs. They have a U-haul to unpack in some ministorage shed across town. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea.


	12. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry to break this up, but this is my jam!”
> 
> They all watch with bemused grins as Stiles gets a running start and slides into the middle of the fray and starts to reenact a scene from Saturday Night Fever with startling accuracy…even if it is to a Miley Cyrus song.

Derek still doesn’t know why he goes to the party. He had decided yesterday as Stiles and Scott pestered him about it that he sure as hell wasn’t going. But his change in mind probably has a little to do with the nine text messages from Scott, the two from Allison with the address and a _please stop by :)_ , and the voicemail that Stiles left him of _“Get your Alpha werewolf ass down here, man! You’re missing all the fun!”_ It has a hell of a lot more to do with the quasi mutiny on his hands last week.

Derek is still pissed off that his pack had gone behind his back and started hand picking potential pack members, but he really had no ground to stand on. He had left them, even if he left with their safety in mind, he still left them. So he heard them out as he promised to do. It still didn’t mean that he would actually act on their ridiculous demands even if did check into the names they had given him and even if he did take the scenic route home that took him directly past the three teenagers' houses. He was just getting familiar with his territory again. That was it.

Derek had taken away something useful from that day. Stiles was right. Their bonds were weakened. Scott had a broken connection to his previous Alpha that was passed onto Derek. Stiles and Allison's bond was broken by their humanity. He could sense them in a way. He had tried to describe it to Deaton after the scenting ritual. It was a phantom feeling or emotion outside of his own that he can hone in on; like how some mothers swear they can feel when their child is hurt or in danger. Derek could pinpoint their heartbeat, voices, and scent if he concentrated hard enough. Scott was easier because they were connected. Even as weak as it was, Derek always had a vague sense of Scott's presence and wellbeing. It felt strange being on the receiving end of the bond. Derek found himself wondering how Laura felt with the ghost of his emotions always in her head. He wondered if his guilt fed her own and forced her back to Beacon Hills and to her grave.

He shakes the thought from his head. He can’t change the past, but he can start to patch up the gaps in his relationship with his pack. Derek, knows that they can all handle themselves. But he also knows that Stiles seems to get into all kinds of trouble when he starts running his mouth and that alcohol can put even a trained huntress off her aim. Scott wouldn’t let anything happen to either of them but then again, he’d be concerned enough for them to put himself in danger. Derek shrugs on his jacket and pockets his cell phone; something Stiles nagged at him to actually carry at all times.

He tells himself it’s only going to be a quick drive by. Get in, sniff them out, glare at Jackson until he tucks his tail between his legs and runs (just for fun), and leave. But it’s when he gets there, as he’s greeted with loud music pumping through the speakers and the muffled chant of _CHUG_! _CHUG_! _CHUG_! going off in the background, that he decides to stick around. It’s just a normal high school Halloween party. It butts against his instincts and makes him unsettled that he can’t immediately pick his pack out from the rest of the teenagers packed into the house. He rolls his shoulders to ease the tension, taking a breath, and forces his instincts down.

Derek’s scoping the place out from his spot leaning against the stair banister. He can tell underneath the alcohol and smoke and sweat that this is Danny’s house. He can smell the trace scent of Armani and grass and a unique Danny smell that is accented and intertwined within the familiar scents of the boy’s family. Derek focuses his senses and lets them pick out his pack for him. They’re in the middle of the dance floor. Stiles is jumping up and down in a way that is just short of spastic. Allison is right next to him with Scott dancing to the music. Danny is not too far off laughing at Stiles as he does a Michael Jackson impersonation that even Derek can admit is impressive. He’s heard the song playing on the radio, and he knows without a doubt that it’s going to be stuck in his head for a few days as they all sing along to the chorus.

“All the moves like Jagger! I've got the moves like Jagger! I've got the moves like Jagger!”

Stiles ends up dancing close to Danny and makes funny face at him until the taller teen laughs and pushes him away. Derek can’t help but grin. He can almost feel their happiness. It calms his instincts. It’s not until Stiles’s grabs Scott and starts to chacha with him that Derek laughs. It’s sudden and shocking but feels good, so he lets it rumble out of his chest. Scott’s head snaps to where Derek is, and he jerks Stiles to a stop to point him out. Allison makes a beeline for him pulling both boys behind her.

“Derek!”

Her cheeks are barely flushed, but he smells alcohol on her breath. Scott nods at him as he smiles and wraps an arm around her. Stiles however skids to a stop next to Derek to throw an arm over his shoulders and grins. His cheeks are flushed, and Derek can smell the spicy rum and sticky sweet coke on him before he even speaks.

“Glad you could make it man, but where’s your costume?”

Derek shakes his head as he looks at Stiles. He’s in a white button down with ray bands pushed up on his head, tube socks, and basketball shorts. It's his homage to _Risky Business_. Allison is wearing a Jesse costume from _Toy Story,_ and Scott is wearing cameo cargo pants with a black nerf gun secured in a thigh holster and a t-shirt that reads Zombie Extermination Team. Derek’s glad he didn’t go as a werewolf. Small mercies. He make sure to give Allison an approving smile. When she beams back at him, he knows that she steered Scott (and probably Stiles) away from the idea. Derek unzips his jacket to reveal the shirt underneath. Stiles’ eyes widen comically while his mouth opens and closes rapidly in shock. Derek has to fight back another laugh. Stiles points at his chest accusingly.

“Dude! I’ve been looking for that shirt! I thought Orion buried it in the backyard!”

Derek quirks an eyebrow as Scott heaves a sigh. There’s a story behind it, he knows, but Stiles is too focused on the Batman shirt Derek’s wearing to elaborate. He plucks at the soft black, worn in t-shirt and lets it go with a pained groan.

“Oh man, you’re stretching it out.”

Derek shrugs. He needed an undershirt the night he went to Stiles house the night he came back. He had to break up the smell of mothball and dead, stale air somehow. The shirt was just half hanging off the back of his desk chair. And the shaman said that being around pack would help center him. He hadn’t thought twice about taking it.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and pokes him directly in bat symbol across his chest. Now that Derek notices, it is kind of stretched out. 

“You better.”

His eyes are bright with laughter that soon finds its way out of his mouth in a laugh. He kicks his foot at Scott.

“Dude, does this mean you’re Robin?”

Scott scoffs and swats at the flailing appendage. Derek is pretty sure the only reason Stiles doesn’t fall on his ass avoiding Scott’s hand is because he’s using Derek as a shield. Once he’s standing upright, he settles his arm over Derek’s shoulder again and fusses at the cuff of a sleeve still chuckling.

“I am not Robin.”

Stiles and Derek snort at the same time. Stiles beams at him, pleased, before turning his smile onto Scott.

“Yeah, you are. Cause Allison is totally Nightwing.”

Scott pouts at his giggling girlfriend and then glares at his best friend.

“Then that means you’re Alfred.”

Stiles shrugs and pats at Derek’s shoulder.

“Alfred got shit done.”

Allison runs a soothing hand up and down Scott’s arm while still fighting back giggles. Stiles leans more on his weight on Derek.

“You missed us didn’t you?”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“I figured I’d better show up before Scott maxed out my data limit.”

Scott makes a wounded noise, and Allison loses it. She has to bury her face in Scott’s shoulder she’s laughing so hard. Scott looks like a kicked puppy. Derek almost feels bad, almost. Stiles lists forward to mock whisper.

“Dude, you kind of did text him a lot.”

Scott pointedly glares at Stiles.

“I only texted him so much because you and Allison told me to! And Danny kept asking where your cousin Miguel was, and I kept forgetting what I sent and what I didn’t because I was trying to keep you from convincing Greenberg to do karaoke!”

Allison, just getting herself back in control, starts laughing again, and Stiles bites his fist to keep the sounds of his laughter muffled. He loses it with one look at Derek’s completely blank face that does nothing to hide the uneasiness in his eyes. Stiles has to cling to Derek's shoulder as he rocks with laughter. Stiles tries to say something but has to resort to moving his hand in a complicated gesture seeing as he’s too busy gasping for air. Derek can read his face pretty easily, but the teen’s unique brand of body language via flailing is a little harder to understand. Scott reads it loud and clear and sighs sparing a smile at the hiccupping girl tucked against him.

“Don’t worry, he knows that Stiles doesn’t have any cousins. I think he just wanted someone here that would stir things up.”

Stiles slaps at his shoulder, red in the cheeks from his laughter, with smile a mile wide.

“Who better than an accused murderer?”

Derek goes to open his mouth to defend himself. He was acquitted, and the charges were dropped. Besides that fact, Stiles and Scott were the ones to falsely accuse him in the first place. Stiles cuts him off with a smirk because the little shit knows what he’s going to say even buzzed as his is.

“Sorry to break this up but _this_  is my jam!”

They all watch with bemused grins as Stiles gets a running start and slides into the middle of the fray and starts to reenact a scene from Saturday Night Fever with startling accuracy…even if it is to a Miley Cyrus song. Scott rolls his eyes but follows his best friend. Allison smiles at Derek, but her body is already turning to follow her friends.

"If you plan on sticking around, drinks are in the kitchen. Water is in the fridge."

Derek finds a spot to sit in the kitchen. He's pretty amused that the guys are giving him a wide birth and annoyed that the girls as sending him not so subtle stares and flirtatious smiles. He’s pretty sure Allison has told them to leave him alone because they aren’t approaching him. Derek’s not stupid. He knows how he look and how others perceive him. He'll never admit it to Stiles but his “fuck off” face is good. He just doesn't think it is not good enough to stop inebriated teenage girls from approaching him. He’s on his third cup of beer, and he doesn’t feel a thing. He does it just to have something to do. It is almost as if its memory recall. Like when he was younger and the wolf wasn't so strong, a liter of jack would give him a buzz for an hour or two. Now, the thought makes him feel numb.

He’s sitting with his back to the back of the house, so he still has a clear view of the living room and dance floor. A song comes on that has a few kids shouting and moving ot the dance floor. It’s heavy on the drums and bass (and Derek thinks he even hears some cowbell?). Somebody’s had the foresight to blow up all kinds of beach balls. He watches as Scott catches one and jumps around with it in his hands as Stiles grabs Allison’s hands and holds them in the air as they bounce around together. It’s not until the chorus comes in that Derek really understands what the feeling that's started to settle in his gut the second he decided to stay is. It sits heavily as he watches his pack smile and laugh.

 _When you flew out of the nest_  
_You made a mistake_  
_Flew all the way back_  
_When you got back to your den_  
_One minute too late was already wrecked_

Scott throws the ball at one of guys on the lacrosse team with a laugh. Derek has a flashback of his dad throwing a baseball to him in the woods behinds their house.

 _It's a fraction of the hope but it's hard to control_  
_I get this straight_  
  
_You can't, can't count on a second chance_  
_The second chance will never be found_  
_You can't can't count on a second try_  
_The second try will never come home_

Stiles is laughing as he bumps his hips against Danny’s and then Allison’s. He switches positions and does it again. Derek remembers how his sister used to do the same thing to him. They used to dance to the radio when they were in the kitchen doing the dishes.  
  
_You stick to what you knew before_  
_Don't know what you like_  
_Just made up your mind_  
_The picture still hangs on the wall_  
_From back in the day_  
_When you had it all_  
  
_It's a fraction of the hope but it's hard to control_  
_I get this straight_

Derek watches his pack, his somehow friends, as they laugh and smile and dance. He remembers his family and how they used to do the same. Now, all Derek has left of them are tombstones and a picture in a frame on his nightstand. Old thoughts creep back into his head. What if he never met Kate? What if he stayed home that day? What if they didn’t get stuck in school traffic and had gotten home early? What if he convinced Laura to stay? What if he never came back to Beacon Hills at all? What was he thinking making them his pack, his family? Why let them get close to him? What if he can’t keep them safe just like he couldn’t protect his family? What if he is the one to hurt them? What if his control slips?

 _You can't can't count on a second chance_  
_The second chance will never be found_  
_You can't can't count on a second try_  
_The second try will never come home_

The chorus follows him out the back door and to the steps leading off the deck. The backyard is deserted because of the cold. It’s a bitter chill early in the season. It helps clear Derek’s head. He flexes his fingers out in front of him and lets out a shaky breath. The questions he had been asking himself screech to a halt in his mind as he tries to find the answers to them. The first answer he decides is that he **_hates_** that song. He doesn’t know how long he sits there breathing in cool air and counting the exhales. He is vaguely aware of the back door slamming open and clattering shut.

“This is where you disappeared to!”

Stiles' voice is too loud in the relative quiet of the empty backyard. Derek fights the grimace off his face as the teen all but stumbles to sit down next to him. He ends up using Derek’s shoulder as an anchor and slides his hand down Derek's arm like a guiding rail as he sits. Derek snorts, but he doesn't shove him off. Stiles grins at him and studies his face carefully. He leans into Derek's arm and into his personal space. Derek doesn’t lean back even though the smell of alcohol floods his nose.

“How come you’re out here? Is this you having fun?”

Derek frowns.

“No.”

“I’m having fun.”

He turns to frown at the teen.

“Yeah well, I didn’t drink a bottle of Parrot Bay by myself.”

Stiles seems to consider this for a second before leaning into him again and poking a finger in his chest with his eyes narrowed.

“I saw you drinking.”

Derek just stares at him as his drunken state slows down his thinking. It’s kind of funny to watch Stiles think through things like this. He makes a lot of funny facial expressions. Suddenly, Stiles' face lights up as he stumbles onto something.

“Wolf metakoblism, metabokism, metallicaism-“

He makes a face, licks his lips, and tries to smack away his slurred speech. He looks at Derek confusion clear in his eyes.

“Does my tongue feel heavy to you?”

Suddenly, Stiles is sticking his tongue out at Derek and pinching it between his fingers. Derek sighs, and his breath comes out like a hiss of smoke in the night air. Which Stiles finds fascinating because he decides to do it too. He giggles and does it again. Derek pulls out his cellphone, and he calls Scott not trusting Stiles to stay put while he goes back inside to tell him. It goes to voicemail which isn't surprising. Derek makes a mental note for Stiles to hound his best friend about proper cell phone usage.

“Scott, I’m taking Stiles home. Get Allison home safe.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he ends the calls and helps Stiles to his feet. Stiles is shaky, but he stays standing. That’s when the werewolf notices the teen’s bare legs and the shiver that racks his entire body. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Derek’s making Stiles put on his leather jacket to which the teen grins and throws an arm round his shoulders.

“You’re awesome.”

Derek ignores him and the rendition of Tiny Dancer he is singing in favor of making sure they both stay upright and make it to his car okay. Just outside the car, Derek leans him up against the passenger door and levels him with his wolf eyes. Stiles sobers up for a few seconds.

“If you puke in my car I. will. kill. you.”

When Derek opens the door, Stiles grins and reaches out to pat Derek roughly on the cheek before flinging himself into the passenger seat. Derek walks over to the driver side running a hand over his jaw to erase the scent of booze and the other people Stiles had come in contact with over the course of the night. 

“God, I love this caaAAArrr.”

Derek turns the heater up but cracks the windows to let some cool air in. it seems to help Stiles sober up a little. He reaches out to change the station as Derek starts the engine, but Derek swats his hand away.

“You listen to shitty music,” Stiles pouts.

When Derek doesn't respond, he tries to hit another preset. Derek ends up turning the radio off completely as Stiles slumps down in his seat. Derek watches out of the corner of his eye as Stiles pulls the jacket closer to his face and ducks his nose into the collar and laughs.

“What?”

His eyes roll over to Derek, and he laughs again.

“You’re going to be sooooo pissed.”

“Stiles, what?”

Derek is watching him more than the road now.

“I drove your Camaro to the impound lot.”

If Derek breaks a little extra hard at a stop sign, it’s not like anyone but him is going to remember it in the morning. They drive in silence for a while. With Stiles, a drunk Stiles at that, Derek’s lucky he got half a block before he opens his mouth again.

“No threats about my throat meeting your teeth?”

Derek readjusts his grip on the steering wheel. In the end, he feels slightly better that Stiles was the one to make sure Laura’s car got to the impound lot safely. Instead, he grins at Stiles now slouched in the passenger seat. It's all teeth.

“You’ll be begging for it tomorrow.”

Stiles makes a sleepy noise. It is a half snort, half snore. Derek knows it’s going to be a pain in the ass to get Stiles out of the car, and it is. Derek has to help him with the seat belt and walking and standing in general. The only helps he gives is a warning.

“Gonna puke.”

And Stiles does just that, right into the hedges by the front door. Derek helps him to stand up again and ignores the stench. He is never letting Stiles forget about this. When they get to the door, Derek has a fleeting thought about keys, but Stiles turns the knob and almost falls flat on his face with the door not holding him up anymore. Derek stops him midway down by grabbing him across the waist. Derek groans at the lack of common sense, but he is thankful that no one is stupid enough to break into the Sheriff’s house because hauling Stiles up the side of his house was not going to be fun. Derek can see Orion padding up the hall to greet them which Stiles absolutely loves. He ducks down to wrap his hands around the German Shepherd. He is practically laying across the dog’s back, arms around his neck, as he buries his face into the fur.

“Hey buddy, missed me? I missed youuu!”

Derek pulls Stiles away from the dog gently before he gets slobbered on. He nods inside the house.

“Bed, Orion.”

The dog takes off to the bed he has in a corner of the living room. Stiles turns to Derek with a disappointed pout on his pale face.

“Hey, I wanted to tell him about the party.”

The werewolf would love nothing more than to yell at Stiles because this is way beyond his level of patience, but he just looks so heartbroken and earnest all at the same time that it makes something warm bubble up in Derek's chest. And that is more disturbing than the fact that Stiles actually drove his car. Derek sighs but lifts one of Stiles' arms over his shoulders.

“You can tell him later.”

Stiles leans against the length of Derek's body and moves his feet forward. It takes a few minutes to make it up the stairs because Stiles decides he wants to tell Derek about the time he tobogganed down them and crash landed into the china cabinet when he was ten-years-old. It involves a lot of pointing and hand motions and a lot of keeping Stiles upright on Derek’s part. He tries not to grin when he turns down Stiles offer to try it. He manages to get him in bed with relative ease, but it’s when he tries to take his jacket off the pain in the ass Stiles that Derek knows so well rears his head. He won’t let go. It would be so easy to pry his fingers off and leave, but it's Stiles’s sigh as he buries his face into the pillows that stops Derek from moving.

“If you take it, you’ll leave. Don’t want you to leave again.”

Derek ends up blinking at him in confusion. There is nothing but truth in those words. Not even a blip in his heartbeat.

“Missed you.”

He has one hand tucked under the pillow as he lies on his stomach, and the other hand is holding the jacket tightly to his chest.

“Afraid you weren’t coming back.”

His voice is low and heavy with sleep, more than a little scratchy from the alcohol, as he squirms into the thick blankets and bed.

“Text someone next time cause you gotta come back..”

Derek can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Stiles moves again. His body relaxes into the blankets completely, and his grip on the jacket is gone. Derek doesn’t move to retrieve it. He can’t. He’s rooted to the spot.

He can smell it, underneath the alcohol and the smoke. He can smell the anger, the anxiety, and the loneliness. It all hits him hard in the gut. The guilt he feels is so overwhelming that he stands there in the dark, quiet room long after Stiles drifts off to a hard sleep.

* * *

“Are you time sharing that jacket or something?”

Stiles stops moaning and groaning to actually look at the jacket he is wearing. He pouts up to his best friend before groaning because the angle causes his head to pound. His voice is muffled in the leather of the jacket’s sleeve.

“Hopefully Derek will show up to kill me and put me out of my misery.”

He lowers his head to the cool desk. He can’t remember the last time he'd gotten that drunk. He can’t remember the drive home or how exactly he made it to his bed. But he can recall with startling clarity that he told Derek that he had missed him while he was gone. That he worried that he wouldn’t come back. And that he threw up in his dad’s hydrangeas. Stiles lifts his head up and drops it back down on the desk as punishment for his stupidity. He flinches out of his desk completely when the bell rings to announce the start of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter alone, you can tell how long it's just been hanging around in a saved word doc file. I write like a mad person. To quote one of my favorite characters; "It's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly... timey-wimey... stuff." It can be applied to the writing process or time travel.


	13. Monstrosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s beautiful Scott. Now, what’s another way to write “Hamlet was batshit crazy and fell in love with an equally batshit crazy 14 year old girl”? Because I don’t think Mrs. Smith will accept “Sorry, I was too busy killing a Rougarou to do my homework” as an excuse.”
> 
> The thunk of Derek’s head on the back of the sofa is loud enough even for Stiles to hear.
> 
> “I don’t want to be part of this pack anymore.”
> 
> Neither Allison nor Stiles need to be a werewolf to hear the lie.

“I told you it wasn’t a wendigo!”

Stiles scrambles to find the bottle in his backpack while Derek, fully Beta’d out, looms over him, eyes never leaving the snarling creature less than five yards away. The flash grenade arrow that Allison launches at it only makes it angrier. Which isn’t a good thing. Not when you’re facing a Rougarou. It’s eerie how much is resembles Peter in his deformed Alpha shape. But Peter didn’t smell of death. Peter didn’t rip into his own flesh and eat it. Peter didn’t have sunken hollows where milky white eyes settle, didn’t have the bone like claws in place of hands. Peter didn’t fucking start eating people’s pets _in front of people_.

“How do we kill it?”

Stiles grabs the Molotov cocktail and tosses it. It hits the beast in the chest. The sound it makes will probably be added to his nightmares… so will the sight of it just ripping off his burning flesh like it’s nothing. Stiles forces back bile.

“So fire is out.”

Derek hauls him further back as the thing takes another tumbling lurch forward, towards them.

“How _else_ do we kill it?”

Stiles can’t exactly throw his hands out in annoyance like he usually does because he has a death grip in Derek’s jacket and is using the other to not fall on his face as they dart to better cover.

“I don’t know! It’s not really a wendigo or a ghoul. Fire doesn’t work but maybe silver will. Except I don’t have any silver because you didn’t let me research anything!”

He really doesn’t appreciate the dirty look Derek throws him. He really doesn’t, so he throws one right back.

“We didn’t have time.”

Stiles pulls out the paintball handgun and checks the clip. It’s filled with a mix Deaton had given him. It’s a little bit of everything; AgX, mountain ash, aconite, graveyard dirt, literally everything and probably anything knowing Deaton. The guy just showed up, handed him a few jars with basic instructions, and left with a vague mention about the weather. Something about carrying an umbrella with him. Whatever. Stiles doesn’t like the way he speaks all cryptically. Just like he doesn’t like the way Derek likes to dive headfirst into things.

“Like hell we didn’t!”

Derek pulls them behind a wide support beam and watches as Scott darts into slash at its legs. It’s slow, and the swipe it aims at Scott’s back never contacts. Unfortunately, the slashes in the meat of its thigh does little to slow it down. It only allows the dark green-black blood to slug down to the floor, more of the stench clogging the air.

“It was killing animals. It was only a matter of time before it went after people, Stiles.”

He slams the clip back in and takes the safety off. Yeah, they were lucky that the lady’s whose cat was fucking eaten in front of her was a bit of an alcoholic, with a gun, and surprisingly good aim. She scared it off. Stiles’ dad managed to convince her it was just a feral dog, and that she needed to lay off the booze.

“I fucking get that. I do. But we could have taken 15 minutes to research and figure out a better plan than, corner it and kill it! Like to make sure that it was actually a wendigo!”

The teen angrily yanks out a jar of empty ash from his bag and throws it away from their ragtag group and their respective hiding spots. The Rougarou lurches toward the noise. Stiles uses the opportunity to whisper furiously at his Alpha.

“You could still let me call Chris.”

Derek glares at him and his eyes darken into that terrifying blood red before it phases back to blue. He’s gotten better control over it, the power or whatever, but he can’t keep it up for long periods of time before the instincts start taking over. They’ve had issues before during training. Scott was a little rougher with Stiles and Allison than he should have been, and Derek was having trouble reigning his instincts back in. Let’s just say that if Dr. Deaton hadn’t intercepted when he did, Scott probably wouldn’t have a right arm anymore. (A. the great horned owl kind of fit Deaton perfectly and B. Stiles was totally right. The owl _was_ totally laughing at Scott when Stiles clotheslined him with a paintball to his throat during practice.) Derek’s better now, even has a recentering technique that Stiles came up with but… The Rougarou needs to die and soon. Stiles can’t deal with that and a partially feral Alpha.

“Okay so, plan. I’ve got a clip of magic ju-ju. Allison distracts him with whatever she has left, and Scott takes out its legs and makes it as immobile as he can. I shoot him to slow him down, you tear his head off, and we get the hell out of the creepy abandoned factory.”

Instead of answering, Derek cracks his knuckles and nods.

“Stay here.”

Then he’s slipping into the shadows so fast Stiles can barely see him as he seeks out Allison. Before Derek reaches his target, the Rougarou tears through some half finished dry wall and catches Scott in the side. Derek is roaring and Allison is screaming and that thing is licking at his blood stained claws and towering over a dazed and hurting Scott. Stiles does the first thing he thinks of.

He fires off a shot, hits him in the shoulder, and fucking runs. He is used to being the weak one. He is used to being the bait. He is used to being perceived as weak, as an easy target. But he isn’t. There’s a meat locker he saw four or so rooms back. An industrial sized freezer that looks strong enough to hold this thing until they call in backup (because fuck Derek if he thinks they aren’t now). He has to get him into that room somehow because he saw the wound from the paintball. The stuff affects him just fine. Except the part where he just rips the sizzling skin right. the fuck. off.

Stiles doesn’t even have time to get into the third room because the Rougarou is swiping his legs out from under him. Anger is a damn strong motivator for anybody apparently. Stiles manages to scramble back up and squeezes off four more rounds into his eyes and nose blinding him completely. The thing roars at him. It’s nothing like Derek’s. The sound is wet and gutted like a clogged sink. Stiles doesn’t even think. He just roars right back in a very Brendan Fraser like move from the Mummy. It seems to startle the creature into stillness. It’s just long enough for Stiles to fire the last five rounds of paintballs into his mouth. The beast automatically swallows the paint and takes a step before it releases a high pitched wail of agony.

Stiles can’t do anything but think _Oh Motherfucking Shit_ before something, someone is tackling him. A sickeningly ripping splat echoes off the walls. He takes a second to register the solid column of muscle arched over him before pushing Derek off him to stand. He almost loses his footing in the slick Rougarou guts. Stiles blinks at where the monster was then back up to Derek. They stare at each other dumbly. He can’t tell who moves first, but they’re clashing together. The hug is a little too harsh but not unwelcome. Derek’s a warm solid weight against him, arms like vices around his back. Stiles sags into him. His fingers dig into Derek's shoulders almost violently. He doesn't seem to mind, and Stiles is afraid to let go because of the adrenaline coursing through his system.

“Holy shit, dude. Did you know it was going to do that?”

Derek huffs over his shoulder.

“Did I know that it was going to implode on itself?”

Stiles releases the grip his fingers have on Derek’s henley slowly and leans away from him.

“Maybe if I had 20 minutes to research I would.”

Derek glares at him but let’s one warm hand linger on Stiles' shoulder. Scott tears into the partially repainted room and nearly chokes on the smell. Allison brings a hand up to her mouth and fights back her instinct to retch. Stiles gestures to the room at large.

“Rougarou go boom.”

Scott gives up trying to pick his way through the room to gather Stiles in a hug and just trudges through it. Allison is close on his heels. She smacks Stiles upside his head.

“That was a stupid thing to do, Stiles.”

Derek rumbles his agreement, picking something vaguely ear like out of his hair. The only reason Stiles isn’t even partially drenched in Rougarou guts is that Derek threw Stiles behind an abandoned desk and used himself as a fucking shield at the very last second.

“Yeah, and who decided to storm in before we had time to positively identify and research the monster du jour of the week?”

Before they can get into an argument, Scott interrupts by almost colliding into Allison from the slick, stinking floor.

“Guys, I think we should get out of here. The smell is really getting to me.”

Stiles nods hastily and starts picking his way out of the mess. He stops suddenly, chuckling to himself.

“What?”

Derek is still annoyed. Stiles can tell because his shoulders are tense. Suddenly, Stiles remembers what Deaton had said and bursts out laughing in Derek's face.

“Should have brought that umbrella along.”

Derek just grabs the back of his shirt and tugs him along stopping to help both him and Allison as their feet slip in the heaping reek of exploded matter.

“Do you have a concussion or?”

Stiles flaps a hand and gets himself under control.

“No, no. I’m good. Just remembering something Deaton said.”

Derek huffs and keeps pulling Stiles along. At least Allison gets the gentle hand on the small of her back to keep her stabilized. It’s strange. But what’s stranger is that Derek still keeps touching them even after they are out of the blast zone. He guides Stiles by the shoulder now instead of the collar handle thing he had going on. And he helps Allison climb over the rubble surrounding the busted in window they entered through even though Scott is doing the exact same thing. He keeps noticing because Derek actually hands Scott the keys to the Camaro, so he can run back to the apartment instead of getting the upholstery dirty. He rests his hand against Allison’s shoulder for a brief second, grips the forearm Stiles has dangling out the jeep’ window as he passes, and disappears into the shadows between hollowed out buildings. Stiles turns over the engine and sends out a quick text. He's not really surprised by the rapid reply he gets.

* * *

Derek steps out of the shower and really, can you blame anybody for completely missing what Derek’s saying when he’s in nothing but a pair of sweats, chest still damp, and ruffling his hair with a towel? (The answer is no.) Allison taps at Stiles' shoulder. Or Stiles think she does. She winds up batting at his neck. Scott clears his throat loudly. Stiles snaps his eyes back up to Derek’s face, his clearly annoyed face. It reads _This is_   _not what I was expecting to find my pack doing after we blew up a vicious creature of the night_.

“What are you doing.”

Oh, lack of punctuation. Definitely annoyed then. Allison picks up her pencil and keeps answering her discussion prompts for English abandoning Stiles to Derek's eyebrows. Stiles uses his foot to smack her calf, hard. She makes an indignant sound but refuses to look up. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“You can sense Scott all of the time right?”

Derek shakes his head, still annoyed and increasingly confused.  
  
“But you can't sense us, so this is the next best thing.”  
  
Stiles shrugs and goes back to his own homework. Allison has herself half cocooned in the comforter. Stiles has one of Derek's pillows tucked under his chest.

“What.”

Stiles sighs and puts his lead pen down to level Derek with his own annoyed glare.

“Dude, it doesn’t take a genius to know that you aren’t even sleeping in this monstrosity of a bed.”

It still smells new and the sheets, though washed, still feel too crisp. Derek doesn’t deny it. But he gets this tick in his jaw that lets Stiles know that he’s going to be stubborn about it.

“You were kind of twitchy back at the factory. You can sense Scott in a way but not us. You kept touching me and Allison like you needed to know we were okay even though you could see that we were. And Deaton said it’ll help having reminders of us around to ground you.”

The scowl that accompanies the jaw tick is a sign that Stiles is right and that Derek is highly annoyed that he figured that out. Like Derek was even trying to be smooth.

“Besides, if it smells like us you might actually break this baby in. And you really should because it’s like really comfortable and that couch is really not.”

Stiles knows. He’s fallen asleep on it enough times. An eyebrow twitches but otherwise Derek’s face doesn’t change.

“What about Scott?”

Scott is killing something on the Xbox. They’ve worked out a pretty great homework routine. If Scott does all his homework for one class (“Correctly, Scott!”), he gets 20 minutes of game time. If he manages to beat Stiles’ KDR in that time, he gets 10 extra minutes of Call of Duty. Same goes for Stiles, he gets way more 30 minute sessions than Scott, and it helps to unfocus him enough to focus on his homework. It… makes sense to him, in his head. Whatever. Scott cranes his head to the side to speak at Derek, not taking his eyes off the plasma screen.

“Dude, it’s cool. I rolled around on it a couple times.”

When Derek realizes he can’t fault Stiles' logic, he tugs a shirt over his head with a frustrated huff. It makes his hair stick up in the most hilarious way. A quick glare stifles Stiles’ laugh. Allison giggles and gets her own glare. She has the balls to smile back at him sweetly. Derek moves over to the couch and notices what Scott’s wearing.

“Why are you wearing my shirt?”

It’s actually one of his dad’s donated shirts, but it makes something warm spread in his chest that Derek actually claims it as his. Scott shrugs.

“Mine was shredded, and we’re wolf bros now, so...”

Like that explains anything. But Derek is looking less annoyed and more relaxed? More fond maybe. Stiles ignores them both.

“That’s beautiful, Scott. Now, what’s another way to write _“Hamlet was batshit crazy and fell in love with an equally batshit crazy 14 year old girl”? Because I don’t think Mrs. Smith will accept “Sorry, I was too busy killing a Rougarou to do my homework”_ as an excuse.”

The thunk of Derek’s head on the back of the sofa is loud enough even for Stiles to hear.

“I don’t want to be part of this pack anymore.”

Neither Allison nor Stiles need to be a werewolf to hear the lie.


	14. Changeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sheesh, it’s not like you can get arrested for it if they don't catch you.”
> 
> Derek lets his scowl darken. Stiles rolls his eyes.

It's just past 3:30 in the morning, and there is something growling in Stiles' ear. He jerks awake, eyes scanning his room rapidly. His brain half heartedly reminds him that the noise doesn’t belong to Scott or even Derek. He remembers their howls and growls, and this sounds nothing like them. It sounds like a Halloween scare soundtrack and a really bad one at that. It sounds like his phone. He groggily reaches for the thing half shoved under his pillow and fights to untangle the power cord. He answers still half asleep.  
  
"'H’lo."  
  
The voice at the other end gives a breathy laugh.  
  
"Sorry to wake you, Stiles."  
  
Stiles turns onto his back to rub at his eyes with his free hand.  
  
"John?"  
  
"Of course. I’m the only one that calls you before the ass crack of dawn. At least, I hope I’m still the only one."  
  
Stiles laughs into the phone.  
  
"You're the only one that gives me fascinating information about critters. That makes you the most important person to be calling me at the ass crack of dawn too.”

He knows he’s flirting. He has known it since they started this thing. But it’s nice to be wanted or at least admired by someone else especially a cute forest ranger half a state away. He googled him. They’re Facebook friends even. It took a while to ferry out all the John Smiths to get to the right one though. Oh, Stiles had made some really great digs when he learned the rather helpful ranger’s full name. He even went as far as to ask him if he could paint with all the colors of the wind. John took it all in good humor and cracked a few of his own self deprecating jokes. Stiles liked that he could poke fun at himself. He liked that John joked with him even at stupid o'clock in the morning.

“You said to call you if we ever got any animal attacks similar to the one that happened in your town a couple months ago.”

Stiles starts to pull himself out of bed, already waking up.

“Yeah man, feral cougar. Or that’s what our guys from Wildlife and Fisheries told us.”

John sighs down the line.

“Looks like we might have one of those too.”

Stiles forces back a roll of panic, thick like bile at the back of his throat, and forces himself to grin into the receiver.

“Tell me all about it.”

He listens carefully and writes down all the information into a notebook to transfer into his excel spreadsheets and to chart later. He manages to flirt a little more and is genuinely sad that he has to hang up with John. It’s says a lot that these little phones calls between them rate as some of the only normal moments of his life. You know, if you take away the fact that Stiles initiated these phone calls to monitor the things that go bump in the night or rather to find one specific thing that goes bump in the night. Stiles drags a hand down his face. He takes a minute to look over his spreadsheets and pulls up the mapping system he’s installed on his laptop. The data he’s compiled looks like a mess of dots of various colors to the untrained eye, but to Stiles, it looks like a bloody breadcrumb trail made up of little furry carcasses.

“Ah, crap.”

He hits the appropriate speed dial on his phone. The second the call connects, he speaks.

“Don't freak out.”

There’s the sound of sheets rustling. Stiles bites his lips to tamp down the smug smile trying to break out on his face like Derek could feel it or something. The big bad Alpha is actually sleeping in his bed. His glee is short lived as Derek's annoyed, gruff voice comes over the line clearly.

“You do realize when you say that it has the opposite effect, right?”  
  
Stiles ignores his surliness. It is stupid o’clock in the morning after all.

“I have pretty strong reasons to believe that another big bad and fugly is headed toward Beacon Hills.”

Derek is quiet on the other end of the phone. Stiles takes that as blanket permission to fill the silence.

“I’ve been keeping an ear to the ground, so to speak, and I’ve just came across some information that you’re gonna want to see.”

“I’ll be right over.”

It’s as he stares at his phone and the abruptly ended call that he realizes he’s in nothing but his boxer briefs. He tugs on some sweats and a t-shirt. He’s barely back in his chair when his window slides open. Derek looks sleep ruffled. His hair is a mess, and his pajama pants are half stuffed into his sneakers. It’s kind of adorably endearing that he rushed over all worried and concerned. Derek’s glare kind of kills Stiles delight though.

“I could have been anyone. If I was a threat to you, I could have killed you by now.”

Stiles snorts.

“Dude, for one: you literally just told me that you were coming over. Two: My house is warded to the teeth. Your ass would have been grass the second you stepped over the boundary lines if you even had a sliver of a thought to harm anyone within the wards. And for three…”

He pulls his hand away from the binder where it slipped into to reveal a firm grip around one of his paintball guns. Derek blinks at him once before his grins at Stiles. He outright grins at him, like he is pleased at Stiles’ preparedness. He _is_ pleased at Stiles. Stiles would even push for proud. Stiles is going to write off his own stunned gaping as sleep deprivation.

“Show me how you’ve been keeping your ear to the ground.”

Stiles was serious when he told Derek he’s always loved show and tell. He gives him a short and sweet explanation of his set up, runs through his findings, shows him the charts, spreadsheets, his contact in the immediate area, and the map. Derek’s eyebrows go up on more than one occasion, but he lets Stiles finish explaining about John’s call and the suspicious attacks Stiles had been tracking. Derek listens but raises his eyebrows in a very judging way when Stiles explains about John. Stiles crosses his arms even though he knows it makes him look even more like a petulant child.

“John just feeds me information. You think I’d leave everything up to my dad? It just made more sense to keep an eye on all the animal kills before they became animal attacks. Besides I’m using most of the information in my early registration essay for Harvard. I’m doing a study of the wildlife population of California and if it could handle the reintroduction of wolves. I mean there are actually wolves, like actual Canis Lupus, in California now. A restoration group down at the Mojave National Preserve has a full pack of them. It’s pretty awesome. But that’s just on preserve land, not in the actual unregulated forests.”

Derek is staring at him with a blank expression.

“You’re planning to go to Harvard?”

Stiles snorts.

“Not even if I could afford it. I’m staying in California to keep an eye on my dad and the pack. I just want to say I got into Harvard on early admittance.”

Derek stares some more with that same blank expression, but his shoulders have lost some of their tension.

“What? Like I’m not going to get in? Contrary to popular belief I’m actually pretty damn smart. I am neck and neck with Lydia for valedictorian. Well, at least until she moved with her dad to Seattle after the divorce. I mean who else was there to compete with? Danny is a genius, sure, but he’s six points behind me, and I can write circles around him in English. The boy is pretty but even his dimples can’t affect Mrs. Monroe. She’s got a black heart of ice!”

_“Stiles.”_

He watches as Derek rubs a hand across his stubbled jaw. He really needs a shave.

“Why didn’t you tell me about all this sooner?”

Stiles levels him with a glare that says _you know why_.

“So you can run off half cocked without any idea if you’re actually going after a legit supernatural being and not Smokey the Bear? So you can waste time chasing an inconclusive lead and leave Beacon Hills vulnerable without an Alpha, again, now that we know a threat is on the loose and probably headed here? Dude, if one’s an incident, and two a coincidence, then three’s-“

“A pattern.”

Derek finishes for him. Stiles grins up at him and pats his hand.

“Awe, my dad’s growing on you.”

Derek frowns and crosses his arms, flopping rather ungracefully into Stiles' spare computer chair.

“I know about your little Tuesday lunches.”

The Alpha looks a little ashamed, like he’s been caught with his hand in the preverbal cookie jar.

“He’s helping me with stuff, with the house.”

It comes out in a disgruntled murmur. Stiles gives Derek a soft smile.

“He likes you, you know.”

Derek stares at his feet quietly.

“He’s, he was always good to my family. He’s a good man.”

Stiles nods. He doesn’t know how to handle that information. He knew his dad knew the Hales. He just never knew the extent. Derek shrugs off the moment and straightens in the chair.

“Let’s look at those kills again.”

Derek moves closer as Stiles pulls up the map again with the information he got this morning. He highlights the kills with similar details. It shows a very distinguished, if not spaced out, path; one that is headed steadily straight to Beacon Hills. Derek stares at the bright green dots and the stark black of the dates lying over the map on the screen.

“You said your dad has been keeping communication with a few of the local departments? Can we get access to the Sheriff’s department that is local to the reserve?”

Stiles hurriedly finishes his train of thought.

“To see if there’ve been any animal attacks in the city that run into the park? Yeah, it might take time depending, but yeah. I think I can get my hand on the case files.”

At Derek’s dark look, he corrects himself.

“My dad can get his hands on the case files. Sheesh, it’s not like you can get arrested for it if they don’t catch you.”

Derek lets his scowl darken. Stiles rolls his eyes but pulls out his phone and dials.

“…”

“Stiles, talking to you twice in one day. Is it Christmas?”  
  
Stiles laughs.  
  
“I just had a question I forgot to ask you. It is early, and I was… distracted.”

He turns his chair away from Derek’s raised eyebrow of judgment and flips him off.

“Distracted, huh? So what’s your question?”  
  
“Which distinct do you guys fall under again?”

Derek is keeping busy zooming out of the map to see the surrounding cities. There’s only two that’s close. Stiles can hear papers shuffling on John’s end.  
  
“Your dad thinking of transferring?”  
  
“Are you kidding? Beacon hills would fall apart without me.”

Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles swats at him.  
  
“I'm sure.”

Stiles smiles at his lap and willfully ignores the feel of Derek’s eyes on him.  
  
“No, it's for one if his deputies. She’s thinking about moving further south, closer to some family.”

Now, he does turn to Derek to catch his surprised face. He smirks at his Alpha.  
  
“Ah, got it. We’re overlapping. It's…”

John rattles off the districts and gives him their station numbers. Derek writes them down on a scrap of paper.

“Dude, thanks.”  
  
“You know you could have just looked it up.”

Stiles chuckles softly over the phone. He turns his chair away from Derek again, like that’ll give him any privacy.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“When are you gonna drive down, come see the wolves?”

The response is the same as the last time John's asked.  
  
“Whenever I'm sure my jeep would survive the trip.”

There are noises in the background, a door opening and closing.

“I gotta go, fire patrol. Talk to you later Stiles. Hopefully sooner than later.”  
  
“Well that’s all on you now isn’t it?”

He ends the call to the sound of John’s laughter. He smiles at his phone as he slides it back on his desk. Derek clears his throat expectantly. Stiles refuses to blush. He can get his flirt on and get info okay? Derek looks like he wants to say something. Stiles starts talking to make sure that he doesn’t get a chance to.

“You know that cop that I said wanted to transfer?”

He waits for Derek’s nod.

“She did. Two years ago.”

He sends a text to his dad asking him to get in touch with Lucy to see if she would be willing to share some information especially focusing on animal attacks but not excluding any strange happenings. He dad calls him not 15 minutes later. He doesn’t even offer his only son a cursory hello.

“Turns out Lucy and her boss are more than happy for a second opinion on some cases that have run cold. You know seeing as I’ve managed to solve four cases that average eight years unsolved in the past six months. She’s sending the files to my inbox.”

Yeah, Stiles hasn’t forgotten that ever since Kate was ousted as a psychotic murderous bitch his dad had started finding all the evidence he needed to close not only the Hale fire but three more homicide cases that she was responsible for across California. His dad sighs over the phone.

“Kid, you had better not be poking your nose into where it doesn’t belong.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and starts clicking through the appropriate websites and logs into his dad’s work email.

“My nose may or may not belong in this business. We’re just taking a few precautions.”

Derek snorts the same time he dad does. It’s weird. They are spending too much time together.

“Son, be careful.”

Stiles sighs.

“I’m always careful dad.”

His dad snorts again.

“You find trouble like a compass points north. I was talking to Derek.”

Stiles squawks at the dial tone. Derek looks pretty shocked himself, but he covers it quickly with a smug grin. Stiles shoves his chair away with a foot and goes back to his laptop while Derek starts looking through his notebook of carefully detailed incidents. Ten minutes later, Stiles is looking through the police files Lucy’s sent to his father’s email while Derek has moved on to scour their local newspapers online on Stiles’ iPad.  
  
“Motherfucker.”  
  
Derek looms over his shoulder to read over the files with him. Stiles easily pulls up the stories from the papers.  
  
_20 year old found dead in warehouse._ **** __  
  
_23 year old found dead in ally behind bar._  
  
_21 year old found dead in abandoned factory after rave._

It keeps going like that for the past year. Nine deaths in total. The kicker is that at the last two murders they found teeth that don’t belong to either a mountain lion or a human. Derek peers at the picture of the teeth. They look like sickles. Stiles represses the urge to shiver.

“None of the deaths were the same, but they were all in the same age range, lived alone, and had no immediate or close family. It can't be normal murders. Not the last two because of how close they were to large amounts of people and noise. So the feral cougar explanation is out the window. And with the timeline, we know whatever is killing them is headed this way. It’s moved steadily through the city and now with similar killings in the preserve following the same path...”

He leans back into his chair.

“It isn’t just another rouge omega?”

Derek shakes his head sadly. If only it was that easy.

“Not with those teeth.”

Stiles thrums his fingers against his desk as he thinks.  
  
“It's something. It hits densely populated areas and lingers with steady kills. But when it moves it travels in forests and rural areas. The animal kills are minimal, but all deaths are still consistent.”

Derek sits quietly and let’s Stiles talk it out. He knows how Stiles' brain works, but he looks a little curious to see where it will lead him. Honestly, Stiles is too.

“It looks like it’s eating the animals in the forest, but it’s not.”

Derek nods.

“It’s not a mountain lion because they go for the throat first, eat the viscera, then whatever is left is taken and hidden for later. Mountain lions don’t leave that much carrion. They don’t leave the carcass out in the open like that. They drag their kills away from the attack sight. You find them in dens or easily defendable places...”

The nature talk slows as Stiles reaches for his notes again. He frowns up at Derek.

“The viscera wasn't touched though. Just some meat is taken. Everything else is just left there.”

Stiles does not like the look on Derek’s face.

“You know what it might be?”  
  
Derek shakes his head.

“It’s going to take time to narrow down the possibilities. We know it’s a predator because of the teeth. Probably needs fresh meat to survive. Probably looks human like to live in the city undetected for so long. Probably something that has heightened senses. Probably something that won't understand stay the hell out of Beacon Hills.”

They start working as soon as they sketch out the killer's possible characteristics. Stiles starts referencing the bestiary for matches. Derek is busy scouring the map and trying to pinpoint its origin by tracking it backwards. The last few files of the report get pinged to his inbox. He freezes when he sees three pictures of suspects still wanted for questioning with one of the last murders. They scream hunter. Stiles taps his pen against the screen.

“Whatever it is, they’ll know. I've got to talk to Argent.”

Derek tenses and glowers at him. Stiles sighs.  
  
“It was going to happen eventually. Come on man. We need help, and we specifically agreed to a treaty so both sides benefit.”

The glower intensifies.  
  
“No, you specifically agreed.”

Stiles spins his chair to glare right back.

“Because it was a smart thing to do. They have connections we could use. It's mutually beneficial.”

“The last time I worked with a hunter it wasn’t.”

That little gem of insight make Stiles' skin crawl. He knows exactly what time he is referring to. Fuck Kate for still haunting Derek. Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair. He’s tired, and he doesn’t have time to talk Derek down right now.

“We don’t know how much time we have, Derek. It might be here already.”

Derek glares at him. He knows Stiles is manipulating him. Sites knows Derek going to bitch him out for it later.

“Make the damn call.”  
  
He grabs his phone and texts Chris before Derek changes his mind. The only thing they agree on after that is to not tell Allison or Scott until Stiles talks to the hunter.

* * *

When he gets to the Argent’s two hours later, he’s greeted by one of the Argent’s hunters and is escorted into the living room where another three hunters linger. Stiles meets Vitoria’s cold gaze and Chris’ quiet restraint. Stiles clucks his tongue as he sits on the open sofa across from them. He shakes his head.

“Strike one.”

Victoria lifts an eyebrow. It looks like it could be a weapon with all its’ sharp aggressiveness.

“This isn’t what we," he motions between Chris and himself, "agreed to.”

Even Victoria's nails look like a weapon. They are kept long and neatly trimmed and are painted a vicious red. They gleam as she folds her hands in her lap.

“I thought it would be more prudent this way seeing as we are the ones that have all the information.”

Stiles can’t help but hear an echo behind Victoria’s words that sound like _we’re in charge here_. He narrows his eyes at her, and for the most part, he ignores the other hunters. They aren’t important. Stiles is making it known that he’s here on pack business. He knows the hunters assume he’s here under his Alpha’s orders. Stiles lets them think that. He also lets them notice that he doesn’t give a shit about them. He’s telling them that they aren’t worth his pack’s notice. It’s a simple tactic though Stiles knows it might come back to bite them on the ass. Hunters tend to get pissy when you don’t think they are good enough. Victoria holds Stiles' glare easily. She somehow comes off as both terrifying and smug. Stiles sits back and let’s her have her little power play.

“It’s a Changeling. The Montgomery’s have been tracking it for about half a year.”

He breaks his stare to glance at Chris. A Changeling was one of his top 5 for monster of the week. It feels good to know that he’d gotten that close off guesses and possibilities. A hunter with an very deadly looking knife strapped to his thigh speaks up.

“A Changeling is a skin walker. They take on other forms, animal and human. Ever hear the saying everyone has a doppelganger?”

The younger hunter waits until the bald hunter with a scar high on his cheek nods, acknowledging him, before he continues.

“Changelings can borrow your face, your body. They can't keep up the facade for long. Young ones can hold for a few hours. Older ones, months. Some can take your form forever, but to do that they have to eat -”

Stiles interrupts. He’s already clicking things into place.

“Organs. In some cultures the organs, especially the heart, lungs, and liver, are believed to hold a person's soul.”

Chris takes over the explanation.

“They eat any of those organs, and they can shift into your form for the rest of their lives. They are dangerous because the can hide in plain sight.”

Stiles takes a second to consider this.

“Then why didn’t this Changeling keep the form of one of the people it killed?”

The scarred hunter answers. Stiles has him singled as the Montgomery of the Montgomery hunters. The way the others defer to him just solidifies it.

“They can take your body, but not your mannerisms. It was a big town, but he didn’t want to take any chances since he knew we were tracking him.”

He grits it out like it hurts him to share the information. Stiles feels the same. He doesn’t like these guys. He’s got a pretty good reason not to; especially with the information he’s found. He focuses back on Chris and Victoria.

“Nothing else I should know about?”

“No.”

Victoria’s eyes are steady as she says it. Chris’s jaw is tense. Stiles shakes his head at both of them as he pulls the photos from his bag and tosses them face down on the coffee table. He waits until Victoria picks them up and flips the over. It’s the photos of the three Montgomery hunters wanted by the FBI; the same ones that were milling about their home. The scarred Montgomery tenses. His hand goes to the gun Stiles knows is strapped to his side under his jacket. He watches out of the corner of his eye, but he still has his focus on the Argents.

“Strike two.”

Victoria grinds her teeth. It looks painful. Good.

“You knew before you came over?”

He shrugs his shoulders while willfully ignoring Victoria Argent’s quiet fury.

“I had a few ideas of what it could be.”

She tosses the photos back on the table angrily. She’d been caught in her own game.

“Why even call for a meeting if you’ve had it figured out?”

Stiles wasn’t lying when he told Derek that Victoria Argent was scary. She terrifies him. But in this instant, Stiles isn’t scared. He’s fucking pissed.

“I had it narrowed down to five options. Another couple hours, and I would have figured it out.”

Stiles leans forward and makes his eyes hard.

“I came to this meeting anyway because maybe if we worked together we could save time and resources. I was under the assumption that Hunters followed a Code and had some honor. Clearly, I was mistaken. I kept my end of the bargain. I showed up alone, unarmed, and ready to share information. You wasted my time while a killer makes his way closer and closer to Beacon Hills. We made this agreement so we can keep this town and the people we care about safe. Clearly, Hale pack is the only party invested in doing that.”

He lets that sink in. Chris and Victoria share a look. She nods, a minute movement of her head, and Chris leans forward. His ice blue eyes are steely and determined.

“From now on, we’ll stick to our original arrangement.”

It looks like it’s killing Victoria to agree to it. Tough for her. Stiles might not trust hunters, but at least he can begrudgingly respect Chris. Stiles stands and grabs his bag. He takes a second to tower over the Argents. He really appreciates the couple of inches of height he’s gotten over the last few months.

“You get one more chance. I suggest you don’t waste my pack’s time again. I’ll be in contact.”

He shows himself out and jogs over to his jeep. He knows that he’s supposed to call Derek the second he got out of the Argent’s, but he has a very important phone call to make.

* * *

Turns out Derek doesn’t get the chance to bitch Stiles out about guilt tripping him earlier. Stiles is barely even inside his room when Scott barrels in with his claws still out. Derek puts himself between Stiles and the panting werewolf.

“Scott?”

He lets the Alpha roll into his voice. Scott doesn’t have a choice but to answer. He loses the claws and his wolf eyes quickly. He shakes himself roughly.

“I caught a scent on the way here. I followed it because it didn’t smell right. I followed it to the abandoned housing projects on the west end of town. Something has been living in one of the buildings, but I didn’t get close enough to single out which one.”

Derek claps him on the shoulder. He’s done well. Now they know it’s here and where it’s located. Small freaking mercies. They only have to wait a few more minutes until Allison gets there. When she does let herself in the house and up to Stiles’ room, she looks a little spooked. Scott is already up and pulling her down to sit on the bed. He wraps her into a hug. Derek hovers closer on instinct. He doesn’t like the glassy look in her eyes. It’s reminds him too much of his own face in the mirror right after the fire.

“I think there are other hunters in town. I saw some bows, and they aren’t my dad’s. They had strange arrows. The fletchings were all wrong.”

She locks eyes with Derek over Scott’s shoulder.

“They didn’t tell me. I mean I don’t regret my choice. I don’t. But this is the first time, and I just thought at the very least… and they didn’t tell me.”

Derek walks over and cups the back of her head gently in one broad palm. She looks up at him with a lost look in her eyes. He feels it like a punch to his gut.

“I can’t tell you it will get easier. But I can tell you that it’s for the best. They’re just trying to protect you even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

She nods with watery eyes, and he bends down to rest his chin on top of her head. He lets her breathe into the crook of his neck for a few minutes. She’s pack now and has fought beside them. She is worthy of this honor, this private intimacy. She’s giving up her bloody legacy and her family for love and for pack. There’s no shame in baring his neck to her. He rubs his chin against her hair gently enough to brush his scent onto her and to get rid of a little more of the lingering smell of metal and cordite. Even Stiles manages to squeeze in to give her a hug. He just wraps himself around Scott too before he straightens and address them both.

“So here’s what you missed. I’m pack liaison with Chris Argent. There are hunters in town, the Montgomery’s, and they are dicks. Also there’s a Changeling in town that can steal your skin if it eats any of your integral internal organs!”

Allison blinks at him in shock, Scott makes a choking sound, and Derek glares at his enthusiastic jazz hands. Then the yelling starts. There’s the stench of fury, and resentment, and fear in the air. Derek has to refrain from roaring them into silence. It’s Stiles who finally slams a book to the floor to get their attention. Then he’s meeting and holding both of their gazes with a steady, calm determination. Derek appreciates his level head. His wolf doesn’t even bristle at the thought of his Beta (human or not Stiles and Allison are his Betas) challenging his authority. That’s what pack does. That's what a Second does, and Derek closes that thought right off. He isn't ready ot think about it yet.

“Allison, I know that it was shitty thing for us to do, making a decision like that without you, but you have to understand that this was the only way for this treaty to work. You can’t keep getting pulled back into that shit.”

She slumps against Scott, but nods her head. They can talk about the realization behind that decision after they deal with the threat. Derek watches as Stiles turns to his best friend. He gives him a wry grin.

“Dude, do you really think Derek would have let me walk into a house filled with even just two hunters alone? He was within shouting distance the entire time.”

It's the only way he would ever let Stiles go in there unarmed. He doesn’t even feel bad about it. Not when he got to hear the entire thing. Not when he had the pleasure of hearing Victoria’s heart stutter when Stiles told her off and again when he claimed himself as pack. Scott grumbles under his breath about _what if’s_ and _you never knows,_ but Stiles powers over him.

“Yes, the meeting didn’t go as planned, but I always have a back up. I was never in any danger, and I can take care of myself.”

The younger werewolf sighs heavily, like this isn’t the first time he’s heard it before. Knowing Stiles, it probably isn’t.

“I know. You’re just my best friend. I’m allowed to worry about you, dude.”

Stiles laughs and leans over to ruffle Scott’s hair. Scott swats him away.

“I know buddy. It’s the same for me too.”

Stiles walks to his desk and lifts the printouts from the bestiary, the notebook of animal attacks, and gestures to the map and police files thrown up on the dual screen of his desktop. Derek rests against the wall and lets him continue.

“Now, we’ve got a monster on the loose that needs to feed soon and some hunters we don’t want in town for longer than necessary. Let’s plan their goodbye party.”

Derek really should have known that it was too easy. They had the plan ironed out within an hour and had the hunters informed in the next. It was all going so smoothly. So of course that’s when it all went to straight to hell. One minute they're headed to where Scott found the scent, the next they’re breaking off into pairs after Chris’ phone call. Of course the fucking Montgomery’s went off on their own. Of course they thought they were too good to work alongside a pack of werewolves. Of course they spooked the creature because it caught their scents (they only stalked it for a goddamned half a year, and they did it fucking badly at that). Of course because of their fuck up, Derek and his pack spend most of the day chasing scents around town and playing a messed up game of Marco Polo.

The only thing any of them can agree on is that at least it’s too scared to even try to hunt. Stiles texts him right before sunset that he thinks he’s seen movement in the abandoned housing project that they’ve pinpointed as its base. But when Derek gets there, Allison hot on his heels and Scott not fair behind, Stiles isn’t in his jeep. Derek lets his senses flair out as Allison tries his phone. Derek can hear it vibrating from where it’s fallen under the jeep. The screen is cracked. Scott walks up to him with worry etched across his face. He can feel the anxiety and fear through their meager bond. It’s that potent. They can both tell the second Scott pinpoints the teen’s heartbeat because his claws flick out. Derek cocks his head and listens. Sure enough there are two heartbeats in the building. One’s rapid but steady. The other is faster, is Stiles’, and it’s panicked.

“Scott, with me. Allison go around back.”

She takes off on silent feet, an arrow already drawn. Scott darts ahead of Derek trying to catch Stiles' scent. When they do pick up a trail, it leads them into the middle of the forgotten building and to Stiles except…

Derek is snarls at the thing in front of him. Scott tries to jump between them, but Derek throws him back.

“Derek! That’s Stiles!”

He growls at the creature that looks at them through Stiles’ honey brown eyes.

“No. It isn’t.”

His eyes tell him that the teen is Stiles. Even his ears let him hear the nervous flutter of his heart. But his nose tells him that it is most definitely not. The Changeling is impersonating him. The creature has Stiles somewhere. The wolf wants to rip it apart for its mockery. Scott is by his side with glowing eyes as Derek's growl breaks the silence in the room. Scott can smell the impersonator now.

“Where is he?”

Derek can smell the panic wafting off the creature, but it talks as if it’s calm.

“Oh, he’s safe.”

Scott growls now. Low, menacing, and getting louder as he picks up the thick scent of the Changeling’s fear.

“That’s more than I can say for you.”

Just before Scott pounces, Stiles comes crashing into the room. He looks shocked for a second before he narrows his eyes at himself or his fake-self. Before Derek can even move, the Changeling has Stiles by the throat. Its nails, not teeth Derek blatantly realises, look curved like sickles and are as thin as a needles. His teeth look like jagged rows of sickly grey razors. 

“I’d hate to lose this face. It’s quite attractive, and his expressions are adorable. I will slice him open and eat his heart right in front of you if you don’t leave.”

Stiles looks calm, but Derek can see the panic in his eyes, can smell it in the air. Scott is tense and still growling under his breath. Derek catches his eyes and motions to the busted in window behind him where Allison should be. Stiles sees it, catches sight of something, and pointedly blinks at Derek. Derek grabs Scott and pulls him down. He can smell Stiles’s panic rise harshly before it’s tampered down. Then Allison lets loose an arrow. It explodes the second it lodges into the wall and leaves a burning white flame in its wake. He can hear the Changeling cry out in pain. Derek removes the clamped hands over his eyes and Scott’s. He moves swiftly before the flash grenade arrow really dies out. Stiles uses the distraction to throw himself away from the creature. Derek has his claws deep into the monster’s throat before it can even recover. He leaves the body where it falls and turns to Stiles where he’s laying on the floor breathing hard. Scott is kneeling next to him and checking him over.

“Stiles?”

He nods from his spot on the floor but doesn’t lift his head up.

“Caught me off guard. Tied me up.”

Derek barely resists the urge to rip the Changeling’s throat out again. He takes deeps breaths through his mouth and forces himself to calm down. It helps that the Changeling has lost its façade. Now he’s just looking at wrinkled grey skin pulled back from its eyes and lips. He can’t help the flash of the Crypt Keeper that pops up in his head.

“How’d you get away?”

He shows Scott his red and welted wrists.

“I slipped the knots.”

Stiles picks himself up and makes his way to the Changeling. It still has the signet ring on. Derek stops Stiles from getting near it. His claws are still out, but Derek can’t bring himself to lose them, not yet, not with that thing still there and his pack still in the room. It’s an irrational thought. It’s dead, but Derek's instincts won’t settle until they are all far away. He narrows his eyes at Stiles.

“When I tell you to wait for backup, you wait Stiles.”

Stiles glares at him.

“I thought I had backup.”

Derek deflates at that. His angry reprimand dies in his throat because Stiles isn’t lying.

“It looked like you. I didn’t know it wasn’t you until…”

He watches as Stiles shakes his head harshly.

“It let me call him dude. I tried to call, but my phone-”

Scott cuts them off looking out of the windows of the abandoned housing project.

“Chris and the hunters are here.”

Derek lets out an annoyed growl. Of course the one time he wants backup, actually requests it, they show up late. He turns away from Stiles and leans down to pull the ring off the dead creature’s finger. It’s not covered in any blood he can see, but he still rubs it gruffly against his jeans. He hands it back to Stiles and watches as he slips it back on readily and flexes his hand the same way he did the first night. He jerks his head toward the door and starts to move, but Derek stops him. He tilts Stiles' chin up to see the sluggish bleed of a cut on the tender skin of his neck from the monster’s nails. He feels gingerly around the bones of Stiles’ wrists to make sure nothing is broken. Stiles will have bruises come morning. Derek forces down a growl at the knowledge. To make matters worse, he can hear the hunters coming. His feet move for him. He can feel his eyes bleeding out red. He makes it out the door and into the street in front of the building. He wants to tear them a new one. They weren’t there like they agreed upon and one of his pack got hurt-

He hears the arrow before he sees it. Stiles twists to pull Derek down to the ground with him. The arrow lodges into his shoulder instead of his throat. Derek tries to stand but only makes it to his knees. The arrow is affecting him quickly, too quickly. Allison has her bow trained on the hunters, Scott has his claws out, and Stiles has his a gun trained to the dead center of the leader of the Montgomery’s head. He's partially crouched over Derek who is half slouched into his legs. It’s not the paintball gun either. Derek can smell the lead and gunpowder. He hadn’t even seen Stiles take it off Allison. Derek feels a fierce swell of pride for his pack.

That pride only grows stronger with what they do next. Allison takes two steps back to cover Stiles right side. Her bow never wavers even as it crosses over Chris’ body. Scott takes a step back to position himself on Stiles left effectively blocking the hunters from Derek. Without breaking eye contact with Montgomery, Stiles pulls out his phone and makes a call. Derek has to bite his own tongue to keep from smiling. It sort of helps that his shoulder is on fire and whatever the arrow is made of is making his head spin. At least it isn’t laced with wolfsbane because he’d be half to dead by now. Fuck it, he let's himself smile, and he doesn't' care if it nothing but fangs and red eyes. 

* * *

Stiles memorizes the looks of utter confusion and fear on the Montgomery’s faces. The three hunters shift their weight but don’t fire their weapons. Chris is as blank faced as ever and doesn’t care to answer their questioning looks.

“Agent Maxwell, this is Stiles Stilinski. Yes, sir. About those men I thought I saw earlier this week? I made positive identifications. They’re in Beacon Hills. Staying at the Eco Lodge off of route 44 driving two black Yukons. They’ve got Colorado plates; Ekko95CharlieEkko4 and HotelFoxtrot87DeltaZulu. Yes, sir. No, _thank you,_ Sir.”

Stiles ends the call and looks at the hunters. They look pissed. Stiles is pretty sure he looks as fucking murderous as he feels. He doesn’t like getting kidnapped or having his Alpha shot in front of him. He doesn't like how much Derek is leaning into him right now. 

“You’ve got an hour tops before the FBI are breathing down your necks. I suggest you get the fuck out of Beacon Hills before then.”

The start to back away, but Stiles isn’t done yet.

“If you _ever_ think about stepping foot into our territory again, we won’t use outside sources.”

Derek growls low and vicious. Stiles can feel it. He knows the hunters are scared, but they’re pretty good at faking it.

“What about your treaty, kid?”

Stiles is about to tell him that he’ll shove it up their ass, but Chris Argent beats him to the punch.

“The treaty will be just fine. Apparently, the code has some blind spots, and my eyes don’t see as well anymore.”

They all know that’s bullshit. But Chris is clearly saying that he’d turn a blind eye to the pack’s actions. He pointedly looks at Allison and the long cut on her shoulder. The thugs actually look terrified. Stiles bares his teeth at them as Derek growls threateningly. They don’t exactly scatter, but it’s quite a quick exit. The sounds of tires squealing has barely faded when Derek goes limp against Stiles’ lower body. Scott helps to stabilize him as Chris reaches out to look at the wound. Derek snarls, and Chris smartly lets his hands drop.

“It’s carved out of rowan. Deaton will have to remove it.”

Stiles is already dialing before Chris is finished talking. Allison slings her bow over her shoulder and tries to help Scott haul Derek up. But Derek won’t let Scott help him to Stiles’ jeep until he can take a look at Allison’s shoulder where another arrow, meant for Scott, caught her when she pushed him out of the way. He growls lowly and makes her promise to get it looked at. She agrees and helps Scott carry Derek’s weight. The panic in her eyes is easy to see as she tries to put pressure around the wound to stop the steady bleeding. Stiles tells Deaton what happened as fast as possible and to meet them at his house. It’s closer, and his dad is working overnight. Before Stiles follows Scott and Allison, he has the vague thought that the last time he had Derek bleeding in his car he was almost the same shade of deathly pale. That unnerves him more than being facenapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so completely sorry that I haven’t updated in so long. I’ve been struggling with the fact that I might stop writing this story. It’s just that I’ve lost sight of the plot a bit, but I can’t just seem to let it die. It’s my baby, and I have so much written already. I just need to find a way to connect it all smoothly, and it... is not going well. I have this chapter (which is extra long as an apology for the wait) and the next two ready to put up but after that, we’ll see how it goes.


	15. Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Stiles: There are no hot nurses in this hospital. Kind of disappointing.

The first thing Stiles does when Derek wakes up is to shove the Alpha back down to the mattress when he tries to sit up.

“Deaton pulled a freaking arrow out of you last night. You lost a lot of blood, _pints,_ all over me and my jeep. I had to promise to update Scott and Allison every hour before I got them to go home.”

His voice is louder than he thought it would be, so he pushes at Derek's shoulder one last time and gets up to pace back and forth.

“It’s nothing. I’m mostly healed now.”

It’s nothing? By the time Deaton got there, Derek had been pale and shaking and whimpering in his fucking sleep after he lost his fight with consciousness. They were lucky the rowan wood wasn’t blessed. If someone like Deaton had gotten his hands on it, Derek would have been dead before he hit the ground. They were lucky those hunters didn’t have the full information on how rowan and mountain ash works. If they had any clue what it could do in capable hands, in the hands of someone like Deaton or even a slightly more trained Stiles… He balls his right hand into a fist, feeling the solid warmth of the silver band on his finger. Stiles made sure to scrub it thoroughly last night with an old toothbrush and soap. He hated the feeling that that _thing_ was wearing it. He hated that he had gotten so used to the weight on his finger.

Stiles doesn’t even know where this anger in coming from really. Maybe it’s guilt for Derek getting shot. Maybe Stiles is realizing, for the first time, that he might actually lose his pack. That he can lose even more now, and it’s not fair. Maybe it’s his own self loathing for getting kidnapped after being such an arrogant asshole about being able to take care of himself. He lets it wash over him, hot and vicious. He rounds on Derek and is rewarded with the most shocked expression he has ever seen on the werewolf’s face before it is immediately covered with a blank gaze. It fuels Stiles' anger even more.

“It is not nothing to me, Derek! I have a problem when the people I care about almost die on me. So no, you do not get to say that it’s nothing!”

Derek looks at a loss for words as Stiles glares at him for all of a minute before Derek’s jaw clenches and now Stiles can see the anger building in those hazel eyes.

“I wasn’t the one in danger.”

Stiles can feel that little voice in his brain screaming _DANGER! DANGER! WILL ROBINSON!_ He knows that he should shut up, that’s he’s pissing off a deadly predator that had tried and threatened to kill him in the past, but Derek knows exactly where to push Stiles to make it hurt. And Stiles can’t seem to make his mouth stop, as usual. He throws his arms open wide ignoring the near growl to Derek’s voice. He points to his bloody hoodie jammed in the wastebasket next to the bed. He tries to stops his hands from shaking.

“What part of you almost bleeding out on me, on us, isn’t dangerous?”

Derek stands and tries to step closer to him. Stiles shoves him back down, hard. The surprise on the werewolf’s face is priceless, but Stiles is way too pissed to notice.

“Get this in that thick werewolf skull of yours! You are my friend, and I am getting really sick and tired of you almost dying on me!”

Derek snarls right back.

“I’m the Alpha.”

Oh _fuck no,_ he isn’t pulling that bullshit.

“So that makes it okay for you to put your life at risk?”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but he isn’t denying it either. Stiles shakes his head in a tight negative wishing away the sting of tears he feels. He will not fucking cry in front of Derek Hale. He will not fucking cry because of Derek Hale in front of Derek Hale. Instead of facing Derek again, he walks over to his desk chair and lifts the black leather jacket off of the back of it where it’s sat since the day after the party. He throws it into Derek’s chest hard enough for him to rock back a little. The shocked look is back on his face.

“Get the hell out of my house.”

The shock in Derek's eyes is fogged over by something else, something that Stiles doesn’t understand but has his heart clenching painfully in his chest. Stiles stands his ground. He doesn’t move when Derek unfolds himself from the bed. It puts him right in Stiles' personal space. He has his jacket gripped tightly in one white knuckled fist. Stiles refuses to meet his eyes. Derek slips past him silently and out of his door.

It’s not until Stiles hears the front door rattle on its hinges as it's slammed shut that he lets out the breath he’d been holding. He sinks to his bed on shaking knees and grips his head in his hands. The regret he feels is astounding, but the sinking feeling in his stomach that tells him he fucked up is even worse. Orion comes into the room whining. Stiles lets the German Shepherd on his bed, even though he isn’t allowed upstairs because of his hip, and wraps an arm around him.

* * *

Stiles manages to avoid Derek like he has mange for an entire week. He ignores the one and only phone call that Derek makes. The Alpha didn’t show up to pick through his lore collection or have lunch on Tuesday with the Sheriff. That probably had something to do with Stiles skipping the pack meeting on Monday. His dad didn’t mention the missed lunch date. He didn’t even mention Stiles’ moping around the house. In fact, Scott hadn’t mentioned Derek to Stiles at all. It was Allison who took notice of the unusually quiet Stiles and tried to talk to him Friday morning. The second she mentioned Derek being moodier, even worse than before, he slammed his locker shut and went to Chemistry were Danny kept glancing over his shoulder the entire period.

“Dude, what’s up with you?”

Stiles shrugs as he caps and uncaps his trusty yellow highlighter with his thumb. The once goalie leans closer to his teammate making sure the teacher is looking away before he speaks.

“You want to talk about it?”

He sighs at Danny, “talking about it is what got me into trouble in the first place.”

Danny nods and gives his shoulder a squeeze as the bell rings.

“The offers still stands whenever you need it. I know you've got a lot on your plate. See you before the game.”

Thanks to the semi final game they have against the Ravenswood Ravens, Stiles was able to work through some of the lingering aggression he felt during their two hour long practices during the week. He even managed to take Jackson down during one of their practice scrimmages. Now he’s sitting in the locker room getting all but spit on by Coach while he gives them one of his crazier speeches. It involves a goat, jello shots, and a vague allusion to Teletubbies and yeah, _no_. Stiles prods him with the end of his crosse.

“Hey Coach, you need some of my Adderall? Or like a Xanax or something?”

The whole room bursts into laughter. Danny gives him a wry smile and a look that that says _good to see you back_. Coach rolls his eyes.

“Haha, Stilinski. You’re lucky you’ve got magic hands or else I’d glue you to that bench for that comment. Now let’s go out there and KICK. SOME. ASS.”

Scott thumps him roughly against his shoulder to get his attention.

“You ready?”

He slips his helmet on and grins around the mouthpiece he’s biting.

“Let do this.”

They go through their on-field warm ups, and, like usual, Stiles ignores the crowd. It’s not until he’s in his position right in front of the net that he scans the crowd for his dad. What he sees makes him freeze. In between his dad where Melissa usually sat (she couldn’t get the night off), he spots Derek. Derek who is sitting there like he’s interested in what’s going on. He’s about a whole two feet away from Chris with Allison buffered between them. Stiles blinks a few times because this is something straight out of the twilight zone.

“Derek?”

He speaks in a low voice because he knows that Derek can hear him (and he doesn't need the ref close to him looking at him like he's crazy.). The werewolf’s eyes zero in on him, and Stiles grins a little because, yeah, that is still really cool.

“You know that you’re practically knobbing knees with a hunter right?”

Derek gives him a look that clearly reads _You’re an idiot_. Stiles shakes his head and ignores the coin toss that’s happening in his peripheral. He asks the question he actually wants an answer to.

“What are you doing here?”

To that, he gets a shrug and a soundless spoken SEMI FINALS. Stiles laughs as the whistles blows. Something loosens in his chest at the fact that Derek is here. He knows they both need to talk about last week but all that matters now is that Derek’s here. Stiles turns away from the bleachers and manages to bite his mouth guard back into place as the match begins. He twirls his stick in his hands twice and then falls into position. There’s already a penalty. Stiles has a feeling that this is going to be a bloodbath.

* * *

The first half of game leaves Derek with a few realizations. The first being the Ravens' attackers are vicious. Scott has his hands full defending and can't get a score in. Jackson’s show sticking is getting the Cyclones in trouble. He loses the ball twice. Scott gains it back once after knocking an attacker flat on his ass (which Derek does not let out a holler for). Stiles manages to block the other stolen shot. Derek watches as he moves gracefully to reach the corner of the net using his momentum to twist midair to send the ball sailing to #33. He gets back into position arms loose at his sides, knees bent, and thighs locked to hold his center of gravity. No showy moves, just what gets the ball back into play faster, to whoever is open. Stiles' is always aware of his teammates positions, where the ball is, and where the other team is going.

Derek hears him throughout the game telling somebody to defend this position or watch your back or something. The second of Derek's realizations happens while he's watching Scott tear across the field that Stiles’s new position is what made him put on a bit more muscle. He watches along with nearly half the population of Beacon Hills as Jackson yet again tries a showy move, and the Ravens get the ball. They try to get it past Stiles, but he slides to his knees to catch the shot. He gets up fast and returns the ball to the game. Derek filters out a few of the choice words his teammate’s throw at Jackson, the most colorful belonging to Stiles of course.

“Get your head out of your ass and back into the freaking game! You’re making me get grass stains on my under armor, and that shit does not come out easy!”

A few of his teammates crack up or at least grin in Stiles’s direction as they reset the play. Derek grins too because they don’t even realize that Stiles is diffusing the situation. He’s calming them down and keeping their spirits up just like he does in their pack. The third realization Derek makes is that he knows that they need to talk about what happened. He knows that he owes Stiles an apology, but for now he focuses on the game. Scott is a force on the field. It’s not just the wolf. It’s natural talent too. The wolf just helped him overcome his limitations and gave him sharper senses. He watches as Scott takes an impressive hit for Danny, so he can get the goal. Jackson would have just taken the ball. Derek tenses as he hears the other team’s goalie clearly over the roar of the crowd.

“Good shot… for a faggot!”

Half the team is moving toward the goalie. Stiles is already halfway across the field helping Scott and Danny push their teammates back to their positions. From what Derek knew of Danny, it was that he always had a cool head. He lets the comments slide because he doesn’t care. But the team is protective of each other, at least when they’re on the field, and everyone seems to genuinely like Danny. That’s what Stiles is always blabbering about. He probably never had a quiet mouth.

“You’re just mad because he can handle a stick better than you!”

Derek grins and shakes his head as Allison scoots closer to Derek as he laughs. He quietly tells her and the Sheriff what he overheard. Chris pointedly ignores their proximity. (Derek has to refrain from throwing an arm around her and pulling her even closer into his side. It’s natural to him to have pack close. His family was always very tactile. But they are in public, and it would be weird if someone saw Allison practically cuddling with Derek.)

By the time he pulls himself out of his head, there’s been a change in the lineup. The Raven's goalie is now on the field, and Derek has a gut feeling that shit is about to hit the fan. The play breaks, and the homophobe is trying to get in on the action. Scott keeps tag teaming him with the Greenberg kid to keep him away from Danny. There isn’t enough coverage, and they lose the ball. The opposing team is racing for the goal, but Stiles is prepared and easily catches it. The ex-goalie is still racing toward him.

Derek watches in anger as his stick comes down hard on Stiles' hand. He crumples to his knees with a cry, cradling his hand. Derek is on his feet and about to move when Allison grabs his arm and pushes him back to reach out to Mr. Stilinski. The fact that the Sheriff is also on his feet helps calm him. They all care about Stiles. He takes a deep breath as he watches the whole team start shoving Raven players out of the way in anger and in haste to get to their teammate. Derek rests a hand on the Sheriff's shoulder.

When Coach Finstock and the medic pry off his glove, Derek smells Stiles’s blood and almost bolts to the field. Allison leans heavily into Derek's side, and her scent mixed with Scott’s helps keep him grounded. He let his ears pick up the conversation between the goalie and the ref and softly repeats what he hears to the people beside him.

“He was out of the crease! It was fair game!”

It gives Derek some satisfaction that the ref simply hands him a red card.

“Not where I was standing, kid.”

He focuses on the medic pulling Stiles’s hand out of the glove gingerly as Finstock makes them all move back. Except Scott who is kneeling at his best friend’s side. Derek hears the hiss of air leave Stiles' mouth as it pulls the ring out of where it bit deeply into the flesh of his finger. Derek relaxes a little bit, relieved to see it’s not broken bone jutting out of his skin, but not enough to rethink the verbal beating he's going to give Stiles later. From the curse John let out under his breath, Derek thinks he'll have to get in line. Even Allison looks mad at Stiles.

“You’re not supposed to wear jewelry on the field, Stilinski.”

Finstock is looming over him, hand on his knees, as the medic looks it over. He makes Stiles open and close his fist and flex his fingers as he prods the injury gently.

“Sorry, Coach. Family thing. Never take it off.”

Derek feels something akin to pride in his chest mixed with the urge to strangle Stiles for his lack of common sense. Getting the ring taken off by a creature that wanted to eat your heart and use your face like a Halloween mask is one thing. Taking the ring off before participating in a pretty violent sport is another. Scott and Stiles just share a grin as Coach Finstock grunts and looks over the medic’s shoulder as he cleans the wound and bandages it. He looks up to Stiles, sees the determine jut of his jaw, and sighs.

“You’re probably going to need a stitch or two. I can do it now, or after the game.”

He’s barely finished his sentence before Stiles is biting off his other glove to slip the ring on that hand before pulling it back on. Scott helps him puts his glove on his injured hand and grins up at Finstock as he takes his stick in his left hand and spins it over his wrist. The crowd nearly drowns Stiles' voice out as they cheer.

“Did I ever tell you I’m ambidextrous?”

Derek huffs and glances at Stiles’s dad.

“Did you know he was ambidextrous?”

John huffs much like Derek just did except he throws in an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“He never tells me _anything_.”

Allison grins at the Sheriff's antics that are so much like his son's. Derek doesn’t put it past Stiles teaching himself how to be ambidextrous one day because he got bored. Neither does the Sheriff who is watching his son wave off concerned glances with a fond smile and a thumbs up to his dad. That smile fades a little as Stiles flexes his right hand slowly. John ducks his head closer to Derek.

“He’s okay?”

Derek takes a second to focus on Stiles and let’s all his senses flare out. He even shifts his hearing and eyes to Alpha to make sure before nodding and clapping the Sheriff on the back.

“It’s barely bleeding, and he’s not in too much pain.”

The relief is almost palpable on the Sheriff’s face. The game picks up after that. It’s turned into a grudge match, and if Scott gets five minutes in the penalty box for sticking someone in their face guard, he doesn’t smile. By the end of the game, its 15-10 and the Ravens are making one last attempt at a goal. It’s pretty awesome to see Stiles grab it out of the air like it’s nothing with his left hand. The roar of the crowd is almost enough to deafen him. He watches as Stiles runs full out to his nearest teammate and flings himself on them. Derek loses track of Scott in the mass of players, but he still grins and speaks because he knows he’ll hear it.

“Good game.”

* * *

Stiles pries himself away from Danny and the rest of his teammates and manages to give even Jackson a jovial pat on the back as they make their way to the field house. He yanks off his helmet to get some fresh air. He spots his dad walking over with Allison and Derek. He reaches up to give his dad a quick hug, the bulk of his gear making it weird.

“That was one hell of a game, son. You need me to stay? I can get somebody to take over my shift for the night.”

Stiles watches as Scott lifts Allison off the ground and into a spin. He rolls his eyes.

“Nah, I’ll be alright. Sorry for scaring you back there. I just didn’t see it coming.”

His dad grabs his head and gives it a rough shake.

“Neither did I. Ambidextrous, huh?”

He looks shocked before he remembers that Derek was sitting right next to his dad. Figures. He waves a hand at Chris who is walking off of the field after shaking Scott’s hand. His dad gets his attention by flicking his ear.

“I expect you to not be up when I get home. Get that hand looked at.”

He waves him off with his goalie stick.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He turns to see Derek materializing right next to him out of mid air. Stiles gives him a wide grin. He'll blame it on the adrenaline.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek says as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

Stiles shrugs.

“An idiot with mad skills.”

Stiles feels awkward with what happened last week still hanging in the air between them. The need to do something has him trying to get the velcro open on his glove on his good hand. All it does is make him grimaces as it stretches the wound open on his injured finger. The adrenaline in his system is starting to come down from the game. He can feel the cut burning inside his sweaty glove. Derek has the velcro open and the gloves off, making sure not to drag it across his injured hand, faster and gentler than Stiles had thought him possible. The cold air bites into the wound, but it helps numb the pain. Stiles tries not to stare at Derek as he turns his hand gently to see damage. He doesn’t like that the bandage is saturated with blood and that his knuckles are already dark red and on their way to bruising if his frown says anything at all.

“You need to get those stitches.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but Derek pushes him toward the locker rooms. He grabs Scott by the back of his jersey and does the same. Stiles is halfway to the field house when he turns around to shout back to Derek.

“You’re coming over to my house for pizza right? Scott picked the movie, so it’s bound to be horrible but hey, he’s buying.”

Derek frowns in answer and shouts, “Stitches. Now.”

Stiles flips him off but heads to the field house and the medic waiting on him with a smile.

* * *

The only reason Stiles knows that someone is walking up to his house is because Orion jumps up from his sprawl and starts to trot to the door, his tail wagging hard enough to make his whole rear end shake. Stiles grins into his slice of Hawaiian barbeque pizza as the back door opens and closes.

“You’re late,” Allison sings songs from the loveseat.

Stiles leans his head back against the couch to watch Derek grab a bottle of water from the fridge while simultaneously patting down the German Shepherd glued to his side. He makes his way to the couch, and Orion goes back to his position at Stiles' feet. Derek leans over to grab a slice of pepperoni pizza before he settles into the end of the couch. Stiles grins.

“Now we can start the movie!”

It’s some franchise action cop movie. Stiles barely resists the urge to groan. He liked the action and explosions just fine, but the really bad, poorly researched police procedure moments drive him up the wall. The drawback of being the Sheriff’s only son is a long and varied list, but he has fun pointing out everything that’s wrong.

* * *

About half way through the movie and three large pizzas demolished, Derek notices that Stiles isn’t watching the movie but is gently cradling his right hand in his lap. He watches as he tries to bend his fingers and flinches.

“How bad is it?”

The quiet question startles Stiles a little bit as he looks down at his hand, up to Derek, and then back again.

“It’s not bad,” he says as he shrugs.

Derek looks at what Stiles considers as not bad. There are three stitches closing the cut neatly. It’s mostly just to assure the cut heals properly more than anything else. Dark purple bruises are already covering what he can see of his knuckles all the way up to the middle of the back of his hand. It would match a lacrosse stick perfectly. Derek lifts an eyebrow in answer. Derek must know what he means because he huffs.

“The paramedic wants me to go get an x-ray tomorrow to make sure nothing is fractured even though they are like 99.8% sure that nothing is. They would have made me go to the hospital if they weren’t sure.”

He gets a thoughtful look on his face before he grins fondly at the cut.

“I think Ms. McCall might have bullied them into telling me that.”

He goes back to looking at the television. Derek sits for a minute because if Stiles isn’t going to say it hurts then he isn’t going to do anything about it. It’s not until a few minutes later, as Stiles sucks in a sharp breath of air when he goes to grab his glass with his bandaged hand, that Derek pulls himself off of the couch. He rummages around in the freezer and sinks back into the sofa holding out a bag of peas to Stiles. 

“Thanks mom,” tiles grumbles while accepting the bag.

Allison, who had watched the whole thing with an amused expression on her face, laughs and snuggles closer to Scott who doesn’t seem to notice their interaction at all. Derek shoots her a dirty look and turns back to the movie.

“Oh, come on! Is that a magic gun that never runs out of bullets! He’s shot like 18 people on one clip!”

Derek snorts because he’s right. He watches as Stiles explains why it's so ridiculous and realizes that Stiles is right more often than not.

* * *

Derek gets a text message the next morning as he’s staring at the papers spread out in front of him. The Sheriff gave him the name of the contractor that did some remodeling work on the Hale house before Derek was born. The man who owns the company still lives in town, but now, it’s his son that runs the business. There’s a kind of symmetry to it that Derek knows Laura would hate and his mom would find poetic. Everything is in place. The contract that’s been written up has everything they agreed on even the strange requests he’s asked them for. The man didn't bat an eye when Derek asked for them just like his father didn't when it was Derek's mother doing the asking (or so says John). Derek just can’t seem to press his pen to the paper. He drops it to the table and reaches for his phone.

 

From Stiles:

_There are no hot nurses in this hospital. Kind of disappointing._

 

He thinks about ignoring it. He does. But Derek’s ignored him for most of a week. It didn’t sit right with him. It still doesn’t. Besides, it’s as good a distraction as any.

 

To Stiles:

_the hand ok?_

 

From Stiles:

_sore, no fractures, really bruised_

To Stiles:

_playing Friday?_

From Stiles:

_Duh._

He smiles down at his phone. He signs the papers.


	16. Extension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles flails an arm and hits a pec. He’s warm and safe and very, very tired. Whatever mojo Derek worked on him has practically erased the fear the dream left him with.
> 
> “Pack is family dude. You told us that. Don’t try to take it back now.”
> 
> Derek laughs quietly. His breath hits close to Stiles’ shoulder.
> 
> “I’m not. I won’t.”

“Why is this in French?”

Stiles doesn’t look up to where Derek is staring confusedly at one of his lore books. It’s kind of become routine for them over the last few weeks. It turns out having random people crawling all over his family home and demolishing half of it doesn’t sit well with him or his instincts. He had learned quickly that it was best to only go to the construction site when he needed to sign or approve of something. His control wasn’t shaky, but it wasn’t solid anymore either. So he keeps himself busy. He’s made Sunday the designated training day for the pack, so they can use the woods behind his house without worrying about constructions workers. He makes sure to spend time with his pack individually as well.

He visits Scott when he can. Between work, school, and lacrosse it isn’t easy, but he manages. Allison is even harder to spend time with because of her parents, but they manage to carve out time for each other. She even pesters him into letting her take him to the firing range. Because “You might be an Alpha, but even a supernatural being can benefit from at least learning gun safety, Derek.” (Besides, he wasn’t about to get shown up by Scott so he opted to learn to shoot too. He was decent.) He continues his Tuesday lunches with the Sheriff even if John does passive aggressively hint at Derek coming to work for him. He listens to the Sheriff’s tales, and he accepts the brochures and the forms. He even agrees to go on a ride along, but he doesn’t bring in the application. John seems to understand that he won’t think about working until everything else is settled, until he’s settled with his wolf again. His son seems to get that too. Stiles never bats an eye about Derek letting himself into his house every Wednesday.

“It keeps me from getting rusty.”

Derek stares at the side of his head, tilting his own head to the side in confusion.

“You know French?”

Stiles uncaps a highlighter and furiously attacks his history notes.

“Oui, mon amie loup garou.”

He is aware that he is cocking his head even further to the side and that he probably looks like an idiot, but Stiles isn’t looking so he doesn’t care as he asks another question.

“Aren’t you taking Spanish in school?”

“Si.”

Derek wants to strangle him instead he settles on an annoyed, “Why?”

Stiles grins at him now, “because I don’t know Spanish.”

Derek lets out an annoyed sound and picks up the book that he hasn’t looked at yet and lounges across Stiles’ bed. It is quiet for all of two seconds before Stiles speaks.

“You look like some kind of puppy when you do that confused head tilt thing. Or that angel from that Supernatural show.”

Derek lets a frustrated groan.

“ _Study, Stiles_.”

The silence settles around them again. At first, it is angry, but that anger evaporates quickly into something comfortable. They’re pack now. But more than that, they’re friends. Getting there had been rough. (Scott still challenged Derek at every corner. Allison did her best to toe the line between her pack and her family. Stiles had taken it upon himself to talk to Deaton and forced his own form of “Special Alpha Meditation” on him, and Derek won’t ever admit how much it helps when he feels his control slipping.) He is getting better at being an Alpha which is probably why he doesn’t throw the book at Stiles’ head like he wants to.

* * *

Stiles should have expected this. He really should have. He knows better. There are always reason behind madness, no matter how deranged it may be (he’s had Finstock as a Coach for the past two years of his life.) He should have not ignored that little itch at the back of his head. He knew something was up with that whole Changeling thing. Even if Beacon Hills had a reason to become a literal beacon for the things that go bump in the night (stupid telluric currents and ley lines!), they had minimal issues with the supernatural world while Derek was off finding himself and making friends with his furry side.

Stiles should have known better. He should have dug deeper. Maybe then he would have noticed the almost sacrificial homicide around the same time the Changeling started leaving dead bodies lying around for the cops to find before getting the hell out of dodge. He should have been able to figure out that the Changeling didn’t get bored with his pickings. He (She? It?) was being _hunted_. It was trying to throw _something_ off it’s trail.

He should have put two and two together. But he didn’t, and that’s why he’s running through the forest with only a waxing crescent moon lighting his way. The screeches of the Fury hot on his heels echos around him. The ambush they set up with Chris hadn’t gone well seeing as the hunters failed to understand just how pissed off a grieving Hawklady could be. Apparently, the Changeling had killed her partner. It took her heart and wore her face. The Fury had been hunting it ever since.

How Chris explained it, Fury’s were kind of like werewolves in that they didn’t hurt others and generally kept their freaky to themselves. Except when they lose their emotional shit and decide to go dark side. Or light side if the now flame engulfed tree Stiles had just slid under had anything to say about it. Her rational human mind had slipped so deep into grief and rage that she couldn’t even hold her human form anymore. Chris had immediately called a retreat. Derek had agreed, lunging forward to tackle Allison to the ground before claws pierced her skin. Not even a steel tipped arrow slowed the bird lady down.

“Once, just fucking once, can the hunters not fuck up!?”

He’ll feel bad about the outburst later, you know, when he’s not running for his life. But really, they had the bestiary. They had the fucking knowledge and experience. They’ve taken them down before. But they failed to realize the intensity of a Fury’s broken heart… or the fact they could spew flame and _fucking fly_. Stiles nearly takes his own head off on a branch as he weaves through the forest. A howl drowns out her screeching. He feels a trickle of relief run through him.

Derek is close and gaining on them. Stiles has back up on the way, and he recognizes these woods. He’s at the furthest edge of the preserve. He’s maybe a few minutes away from his jeep and then he can-

“Mother _fucker_.”

The Fury is hovering before him, black eyes fucking glowing with rage. She opens her mouth, and he braces himself for fire and pain. What he gets is pain all right, but not physical. What he gets are memories of his mother. Begging her out of bed to play. Asking her to read to him in the hospital with mauve walls. Pale skin, and sunken eyes, and skin that feels like paper under his fingers. What he gets are words that he understood too late like cancer and chemotherapy and unresponsive. What he gets are flashes of Peter’s teeth in Scott’s hip. What he gets is Lydia’s blood on his hands.

Stiles barely registers the jarring impact of his knees slamming into the ground. He can barely breathe past the weight on his chest. The Fury is in front of him, claws raised, eyes blacker than tar when a roar tears through the forest, rattling branches in the trees. Whatever hold bird lady has on him is broken by the call of his Alpha. He shifts to the side and rolls back up to his feet just in time to see Derek drive his claws into her chest. She kicks him off and takes to the air. Scott catches her around the ankles, dragging her down, and Allison punches holes through her wings with her arrows. The Fury screams so loudly that Stiles has to cover his ears.

“Get up. Come on, Stiles. We need to move!”

Allison grabs at him, but he grabs her around the waist and flattens her against him as the Fury swings out a useless wing. His hands are shaking, but he pulls her back to her feet and ignores the tears streaming down his face. He knows what _victitans_ means now. It’s not fuelled like her originally thought, but feed. They _feed_ on grief.

“The Bestiary was wrong! They _FEED_ on grief! Don’t let her touch you!”

Derek dodges her claws. Scott doesn’t, and he gets sent flying into a tree that splinters on impact. Allison draws her bow and stalks forward. She shouts over her shoulder, sending another arrow into her back, as Derek swipes at her calf making the once woman stagger.

“The ash, Stiles! Get the ash!”

He can barely make out the jeep, but he sees it. He ignores the sound of snarling and all but dives into the lift gate to get to the bag. His hands just close over the bottle when he hears it. It sends chills down his spine, sends his heart dropping, and sends an ache that blooms in his chest at the sound of pure, unfathomable pain. The howl is cut off as the creature tightens its hold on Derek’s throat. Allison, pulling herself out the tangle of Scott’s arms (where he must have caught her from being tossed) ,is throwing a knife. It embeds itself deep into the arm holding Derek. The Fury screeches and drops him. Scott rushes to Derek where he’s bent over his knees choking on air and his own grief. Stiles feels red-hot all over. His anger burns away whatever grief is lingering. Suddenly, the Fury isn’t the only one in the handmade clearing that’s pissed.

“Hey bird brain! Dodge this!”

The creature is already rushing toward him when he throws the jar of mountain ash into the air and swings. The bottle shatters, and the Fury screams as the powder coats her skin and bursting into flames. Stiles gets forced to the ground with the strength of the impact. He chokes back a manic laugh because the Fury is literally going up in smoke right before his eyes. He still can’t believe that he can make things happen if he just believes it enough. He still has the bat in a vice grip when Scott hefts him up. Allison and Derek are rushing over to him, but Stiles can’t really focus on anything other than Scott’s wide and comically funny astonished-yet-confused face. He grins and runs the back of his hand across his mouth to pull away some of the ash that he’s now covered head to toe in.

“Figured this baby should be getting a little more play.”

Scott barks out a genuine laugh, and Stiles joins in, adrenaline still kicking strong in his system. But the laughter catches in his throat as he starts coughing. His mouth tastes like smoke and heat and spice. Ode du Fury, _ew_. He’s bent over clutching his thighs, grabbing at Scott’s arm as he hacks up something black and nasty. He spits it into the dirt at his feet.

“I am never eating gingersnaps again.”

That pulls a startled laugh out of Allison. He thinks he hears a snort from Derek, but when he looks up he’s all business. He glares at Stiles, hand tightening around his wrist.

“We need to leave. Somebody will have reported that explosion.”

Stiles nods, looks around the clearing and just can’t give a fuck that it looks like somebody set off a ridiculous amount of firecrackers. He dad has gotten pretty good at making up plausible cover stories. Stiles got his embellishing skills from somewhere.         

“Shouldn't we like, do something with the ashes? Make sure she doesn't come back?”

He notices Allison is a little shaky. Her fingers are digging into where she’s holding onto Scott’s forearm. She must have gotten caught too.  
  
“She was a Fury not a Phoenix, Scott.”

Stiles is too exhausted to rib Derek for being mean to Scott. He lets his Alpha lead him to his jeep. He doesn’t even fight it as Derek guides him to the passenger side. He can’t stop rubbing at his chest. He can still feel the ghost of guilt and pain lingering there, like a weight. He has to shake himself out of it when he realizes that Derek had been stuck in her grasp too. Stiles turns to him and sees the white knuckled grip on the steering wheel of the jeep. His nostrils are flaring widely.

“Stiles, talk to me.”

He can see red peek out under Derek’s lashes before he closes his eyes briefly.

“Talk, _please_.”

There’s grit under Stiles' fingernails. He looks down almost confusedly when he realizes that he’s covered in ashes. He is covered in _ashes_. And fuck, he smells like fire and death. He’s pack, and all Derek can smell on him is death and ashes. Stiles can feel himself go pale. _Fuck_. He starts talking about the first thing that pops into his head.

“An unkindness of ravens, a murder of crows.”

Derek doesn’t respond, but his eyes aren’t glowing. They’re that impossible hazel now.

“It’s such a fucking misnomer, the ravens at least.”

He keeps his voice even and low. It’s the voice his dad uses when he’s calming down a hysterical caller or witness.

“Like Iceland and Greenland. Iceland is all green and shit, and Greenland is nothing but ice. Damn Vikings.”

Derek doesn’t nod. Stiles wasn’t expecting him to.

“Ravens are smart, wicked smart. They’ve been known to trick humans. A bird that can trick a human. That’s insane right? But they like us enough. They’ve been used as aerial messengers throughout history. And they live for fucking ever. Like 21 years, that’s like one of the longest lifespans birds can have. They mate for life too. Did you know that? They mate for life and defend their delegated territory together. Delegated, like their families work out who defends what and where. They set up their own democracies and shit. I told you wicked smart. But they aren’t murderous or anything. They’re not mean unless they are challenged or threatened, if their family is in trouble. They like to play tricks on other species. They’ve been documented to play tag with dogs and get this - wolves. And they like sliding down snowbanks because it’s fun. They have concepts of family, and home, and fun.”

Derek is breathing through his mouth, slow and steady. Stiles tries to match him breath for breath. It helps calm him.

“But fucking crows? Those _are_ some murdering bastards. They are mean too. And way too fucking smart. Like the government lets people kill them without a permit. And the US isn’t too gung-ho about people shooting birds. I mean the whole spend a couple years in federal prison if you try anything funny with a Bald Eagle thing. But they made an exception for crows because they are too smart and vicious. There are documents cases where crows have killed lambs man. Like little baby lambchops. And they kill each other too. If you’re not their direct family, they’ll take you out and have you for birdy breakfast. One species of crow killed off an entire other species, but you know that’s what Wikipedia said and everyone knows Wikipedia isn’t that reliable. But shit dude, that’s fucking crazy. They murder their own kind.”.

They’re nearly to Scott’s house and Derek’s apartment. His hands aren’t shaking anymore. Derek doesn’t look like he’s struggling for control anymore either.

“They got their shit wrong man, about the ravens. It should be a kindness of ravens.”

The rest of the ride blurs together. He doesn’t even realize that Derek has guided him up the stairs and into the apartment until he's wiping at the blood on Stiles' face with a damp cloth. Stiles doesn't even realize that Scott is talking to him.

“It’s not mine. It’s the Fury’s from when she grabbed me.”

Derek’s eyes narrow, looking him up and down for injuries, as Scott steps forward. He knows better than anyone what the Fury drug up. He sighs and tugs the cloth out of Derek’s hands.  
  
“I'm okay, physically at least.”  
  
Scott just looks at him in worry while Derek hovers.  
  
“I just really, really need a shower.”

He isn’t expecting Derek to take him by the shoulder and ease him toward the bathroom. But he goes. He scrubs himself until his skin is pink. When he finally steps out into the surprisingly large bathroom, he finds a pair of black sweatpants and a thin dark grey hoodie. He towels himself dry and slips into them. The hoodie's a little big in the shoulders and chest, but he's covered. He feels a little exposed without his boxers, but his Fury coated clothes have been removed, and he hopes thrown away, eight streets over, or better yet, buried.  
  
When he comes out of the bathroom, it's to see Scott cutting into a large pan of his mom's lasagna with damp hair. He must have gone next door to his house to shower. Stiles' stomach growls loudly enough that even Allison hears. She laughs, but it comes out quiet and stilted. Derek pushes him onto the sofa and hands him a warm heaping plate.  
  
“Eat.”  
  
Stiles doesn't even need the command. He hadn't even realized that being emotionally drained by a Fury would be that taxing. But that’s probably the adrenaline rush talking. He inhales the plate of food in front of him only slowing down long enough to guzzle down a bottle or two of water in between bites. He doesn’t even realize that Scott has bandaged the cut on his arm. Now that he’s no longer ravenous, he realizes that Derek has had a shower too. He’s perched on the arm of his chair watching the rest of them closely, nodding at Allison as she slides a plate into his hand. She pointedly stares Derek down until he devours a serving of the delicious, cheesy, goodness, even if he looks like it’s torturous to do so. Leave it to him to make eating look more painful that having his soul sucked out by some hell bitch.

* * *

He glances at Scott as he looks over the cut on Stiles forearm as he eats. He keeps an ear on Allison as she takes a quick shower, changing into the clothes she keeps in her car for emergencies. He’s shocked to see that she’s thrown one of his shirts over her running tank when she comes back out. Scott doesn’t seem to mind at all. Instead, he nods his head toward the bathroom. Derek has to stop a pleased rumble from sounding in his chest. Scott will defend his pack until he gets back.

He grabs whatever he can find and ducks into the bathroom. He doesn’t care that that the water is lukewarm. He’s only in long enough to wash away the grime off of him. He’s barely sat down again when Allison hands him a plate. He smiles graciously even though his stomach turns at the thought of eating. His pack was attacked, hurt, and  _fed_ from tonight. All he wants to do is howl his anger and his pride until his claws don’t itch to come out anymore. They last thing he wants to do it eat, but Allison stares him down until the plate is empty. 

He watches the three of them from his perch on the armchair once he’s done. They're not shaken up anymore. They’re tired and sore but calm. They're safe, and Derek wants to keep them that way, _forever_ his wolf urges. That's an impossible promise, but he can keep them safe tonight.  
  
“Makeup whatever excuses you have to, but you're all staying here.”  
  
They don't fight him. They seem to deflate even more, something weary slipping from their faces. He's lucky for it. He's tired too, and his nerves are torn apart. He's also pleased that they need the proximity and reassurance that they are all okay just as much as he does. But the wolf still rattles against its cage when he remembers how Stiles smelled after he killed the monster. He smelled like fire and ash and terror and death. He smelled like his family, the fire... He just needs to know that he is okay and needs to remind himself that Stiles is solid, present, and unharmed. He needs to make sure they all are.

A huge yawn from Allison surprises everyone. She blushes, but Derek squeezes her shoulder as he passes her on the way to his bed. It’s more than enough for him to decide that it’s time to sleep. Stiles flops into the middle of the mattress, mumbling about turning off the lights.

Derek snorts, the weight of his grief slipping from his shoulder just a little, and does as he’s told.

* * *

Derek and Scott take the ends of the massive bed like sentinels against the world outside of Derek’s apartment. Stiles find himself on his back, warm bodies pressed close to him on the king bed. He squirms down into the mattress and soft blankets and closes his eyes. He’s exhausted... and terrified to go to sleep. Allison is out almost before her head hits the pillow, Scott follows soon after. Derek is a line of warm heat against his side. It’s a strangely comforting presence. He can feel himself drifting off. Stiles fights it. He does, but he’s just so tired. He’s too tired to keep the nightmares at bay.

He dreams of Peter like usual. This time it’s different though. They’re not on the lacrosse field but inside the Hale house. This time Peter has his hands buried inside Stiles’ chest. Slick, bloodied claws are ripping him apart instead of Lydia. He can’t feel anything. He can only lay there and watch as the Hale house burns around him. All he can see are walls of flame and cinder and the sticky blood coating Peter’s fingers as he grins. His eyes reflect the red heat of the flames swallowing the house whole. He melts into the flames, cackling. It sounds open and happy. It makes Stiles' stomach turn. Suddenly, he can hear voices. It's the voices of Derek’s family screaming in fear and pain. Scott’s scream joins them followed shortly by Allison’s. Derek’s roar of agony shakes the entire structure. It rattles Stiles’ bones. The sounds clash together in a bloodcurdling melody. Stiles gasps hot, acrid air. He tries to call out for them, but he chokes on the blood and the smoke and the ashes. He swallows it all down just long enough to scream -  

“Stiles.”

The quiet voice snaps him awake. He’s panting shallowly. Sweat is just starting to slick to his brow. There’s panic building just below his lungs. His hand flies to his chest to feel where the wounds would have been, but he realizes that he can’t move. Some of that panic comes screeching to the surface. He tries to lash out, to get whatever is constricting him off, when his realizes that it’s Derek’s hand on his arm.

“You’re okay, Stiles.”

He’s aware that his nails are biting into the skin of Derek’s wrist where he’s grasping it, but Derek doesn’t seem to care.

“You’re safe.”

Stiles realizes that Allison is muttering it quietly, over and over, wiping at the tears on his cheek. Scott is holding his hand, ignoring the fact that Stiles is practically crushing it. He nods but the panic won’t back down. Derek shifts next to him, his hand wrapping around his wrist completely.

“I’m going to try something, okay?”

He nods wildly. He’s fighting his way out of the panic, trying to just breathe, when all of a sudden it ebbs away, slow at first but soon steady. He can breathe easier. His gasps turn into long, deep breathes. The panic is nowhere near as blinding. In fact, it’s pretty manageable.

“Wh-what did you do?”

Derek stops doing whatever, Stiles can feel the loss of soothing warmth, but doesn’t let go of his wrist.

“I took your pain. It’s something that my family could do.”

Allison rubs at his shoulder now in wide, calming circles.

“Any kind of pain?”

He can feel Derek nod more than he can see him.

“It’s easier to take physical pain. But with enough training you can take emotional pain too.”

Huh.

“Huh.”

That’s why Stiles love Scott. That and the fact that the know each other so well they can practically speak to each other without even talking. And the look in Scott’s eyes tell him exactly what he wants to talk about. Stiles isn’t quite ready to share his nightmares with anyone other than his therapist. Hell, he doesn’t even want to share them with her really.

“You should teach Scott.”

Derek nods, maybe even cracks a smile, because Scott is smiling wide and bright.

“That would be awesome.”

“Know what else would be awesome? If we could go back to sleep cause I’m still fucking exhausted.”

Allison murmurs her agreement, already drifting off now that she knows everyone is okay. Derek is staring at him, he can feel it, before he agrees. Scott doesn’t.

“But what if you have another nightmare and start having another panic attack?”

Derek grumbles.

“I know what it sounds and smells like now. I’ll wake him up before it happens.”

Stiles cranes his neck around to glare at Derek. Yeah, he’s a werewolf, an Alpha werewolf, but telling someone that he knows what they sound and smell like is creepy as shit. Derek rolls his eyes and shoves at Scott’s shoulder.

“Sleep, all of you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but settles back down. He doesn’t have to wait long before Scott’s breathing evens out where he’s cuddled up to Allison. Dude could always fall asleep anywhere within seconds. Stiles takes a breath and speaks quietly knowing Derek will still hear him

“I’m sorry.”

Derek shifts again, but Stiles doesn’t look at him.

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry-”

“No for, for kicking you out after the Changeling. I shouldn’t have. But you know-”

He swallows heavily. His voice comes out so quiet between them in the darkness.

“You know what it’s like. To not have many people left.”

He stares up at the ceiling and wills his heart to calm down, so he doesn’t wake Scott or Allison again.

“You’re family. And I can’t, I can’t lose anyone else, Derek.”

He turns to face the werewolf in question. He’s watching Stiles with unreadable eyes. But now that he’s started, Stiles can’t stop.

“You can’t treat yourself like you’re expendable. Cause you’re not. Not to us and not to me.”

He waits for something, but all he gets is a quiet nod. And really, that’s even more than he hoped for. Derek is quiet for so long that Stiles has almost fallen asleep again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think, I didn’t know you thought of me that way.”

Stiles flails an arm and hits a pec. He’s warm and safe and very, very tired. Whatever mojo Derek worked on him has practically erased the fear the dream left him with.

“Pack is family, dude. You told us that. Don’t try to take it back now.”

Derek laughs quietly. His breath hits close to Stiles’ shoulder.

“I’m not. I won’t.”

Stiles grins and tucks a hand over Allison’s arm. He's ready to go back to sleep safe in knowing that Derek will wake him before he has another nightmare. 

* * *

Derek stays awake for a half an hour. Stiles’ words roll around in his head. He hadn’t realized just what his words sounded like to Stiles, the human boy that ran with wolves. He had never been in a pack, never had an Alpha. Stiles didn’t know that being Alpha meant that Derek was the first in the line of fire. It was his duty to protect his pack. Their lives were worth more than his. But he had been without a true pack for so long. He had forgotten what an Alpha meant to pack. It’s completely ironic that Stiles, of all people, would remind him what a true pack does. They protect each other.

He listens to the sound of the teens sleeping next to him. Steady hearts and even breaths. He listens to the night outside of the four walls of his apartment. There is no threat, no hunter or monster, waiting to sink its’ teeth into them. There are here, safe and sound, and Derek would kill anything that tries to change that. Now, he knows that they’d do the same for him. His wolf unfurls in his chest, calm but still edgy. It keeps reminding him that tonight could have easily gone differently. That thing had Stiles by the throat, had tossed Allison through the air like a ragdoll, and sent Scott through a tree that shattered his spine. It had derek on his knees with guilt and grief and fear immobilizing him and leaving his pack defenseless. Two wolves weren’t enough. He ignores his instincts for now. Instead, he keeps his palm flat over Stiles’ heart and lets the steady thrum of it lull him to sleep.

* * *

When he wakes up, Stiles has Allison asleep on his shoulder with her hand fisted loosely at the hip of his borrowed hoodie. Scott is spooned around her, and his leg thrown over both of them. Derek is laying facing him. Stiles can feel his slow, even breaths hitting softly against his cheek. He can feel the warmth of his hand still splayed over his heart. Stiles still feels exhausted and strung out. He wants nothing more than to go right back to sleep except as he’s turning just enough to curl back into Allison he catches sight of the clock above the small kitchen sink.

“Oh,  _shit_.”

He bolts up in bed and smacks at Scott’s legs.

“Ow, what the hell Stiles!”

He grabs Scott’s face and turns it toward the clock before tumbling over a very confused Derek to get out of bed.

“What?”

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!”

Allison hurriedly slips out of bed and into her shoes as she explains, “We didn’t set an alarm. We’re late for school."

Stiles is hopping on one leg as he slips on a pilfered sock and jams his foot into his Adidas.

“So, _so_ late.”

Scott is running around trying to find the keys to the Jeep. Derek reaches over and tosses him the keys to the Jeep and to the bike. Everyone’s eyes go wide. They’ve discussed this before. Don’t skip school unless you have to. People tend to make note of the kids that don’t show up after something sketchy goes down. They haven’t, however, discussed the motorcycle just sitting outside the garage.

“I’m not using it. You already have a license for it. Wear a helmet.”

Scott beams at him and all but flings himself on the bed to hug Derek. Derek allows it for a second before shoving Scott to the ground and rolling over in bed, ignoring them, and trying to go back to sleep.

“You do realize you're going to have to answer to Melissa, right?”

Derek lifts his head to glare at Stiles.

“School. Go.”

Stiles flips him off, but follows Scott and Allison as they run down the stairs. He’s lucky it only takes 30 seconds to convince Scott that Chris would murder his ass if he saw Allison on the back of the Harley with him. Supplying the fact that they need to get her a helmet and proper riding “stuff” before she can ride when he’s hit with the puppy dog eyes. (It’s early in the morning, he’s late for school, and he is still tired alright?) They make it to school with a few seconds to spare. They all but slam into their shared first period English.

Stiles realizes that they are all still dressed in sleep clothes (except Allison who is in yoga gear and a too big t-shirt and she still makes it looks fashionable), are all disheveled (Scott’s bed head is epic), and are all breathing hard. Let it be known that yes, high school-ers gossip about the kids that don’t go to school after something juicy goes down. But they also gossip the shit out of the kids that show up to class flustered and out of breath in disheveled clothes with sex hair. Stiles groans into his desk as Greenberg gives him a thumbs up, and Danny smacks a gaping Jackson into a functioning person. If a functioning person glares and acts better than you.

They make it all the way to lunch without anyone asking if they had a threesome. Though Shantel alludes to it and makes a vague reference to adding some chocolate to their milkshake. While the girl has some sick curves and very good moves on the dance floor, and Stiles definitely swings that way, he’s not going to be taking up her offer anytime soon. Mostly because he needs to stop the rumor that he slept with his best friend and his girlfriend this morning (or how the gossips tell it: last night and this morning, _twice_ ). He’s barely sat down at the table when a shadow falls over him. He ignores it in favoring of mourning his curly fries. He used them to bribe Sarah Holmes, the school paper’s society journalist, into putting the kibosh on the rumor. It helps that he gave her the inside scoop on what went down in the preserve last night too. His dad reported early this morning that a few kids from the neighboring town setting off a few fireworks and accidentally blew up some of the booze they brought with them. Stiles knows she’s going to run with it and turn it into some elaborate tale about school rivalries. He doesn’t give a shit as long as the ménage a trois about them dies a sudden and painful death.

He sighs deeply before he looks up missing the yellowing of Scott’s eyes and Allison's shocked expression. Stiles looks up to see Isaac, Erica, and Boyd grinning down at them. Well actually Erica is grinning down at him, Boyd looks bored and slightly annoyed, and Isaac looks smug. It’s not a good look on him. The whole cafeteria has grown quiet. Stiles has a second to mourn the fact that there’s probably going to be another rumor about how he’s involved in a weird polyamorous relationship.

“Derek said to find you.”

Stiles blinks at them. His brain is already screaming the logical conclusion it had reached mere seconds ago at him, but he stubbornly refuses to believe it. Erica leans forward, showing off her assets, and runs her nose up his neck.

“It doesn’t smell like the rumor is true.”

Stiles doesn’t blush only because he’s too busy cursing and smacking the honest to god growl out of Scott via a fist to the back of his head. Allison kicks out a chair for Boyd and motions to it as she jerks her chin to the rest of the near silent cafeteria. Stiles runs a hand down his face.

“Sit down, and for the love of god, don’t try to maul anyone.”

He goes to stand, but Erica grabs him by the wrist.

“Where are you going? Derek said to stick together. The bite will settle before nightfall and having pack near will keep us in control.”

Stiles doesn’t rip his hand away from her like he wants to. He knows why Erica chose the bite, knows what it means to her, what it could mean for her. Instead, he takes it, and squeezes it gently before letting it go.

“I need to have a word with our illustrious Alpha. …no matter how tasty Jackson looks, no biting.”

She grins at him, a flash of sharp teeth before it's’ gone. Stiles sighs and slips out of the building. One day, he might tell the office about the glaring blind spots in their security system. Today is not that day.

* * *

“What the fuck, Derek?”

He expected Stiles to show up eventually, just not this soon. Derek ignores the way the door to the apartment slams open. It’s easier to focus on the anger wafting off of the boy. It’s not easy to not let it affect him. He can feel his hackles go up. Words come out before he can stop them.

“You’re the ones who told me to think about expanding. You’re the ones who starting reconnaissance on them.”

Stiles waves his hands in front of his face trying to disperse the aggression.

“I’m not giving you shit for that! I’m giving you shit for doing it without even telling us!”

That stops Derek cold.

“We should have been there for them and for you.”

Derek slumps in his chair.

“Huh.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and sprawl across the sofa.

“Yeah,  _huh_. It’s going to take it a while to get it into your thick head that you’re not alone anymore isn’t it?”

Derek shrugs.

“I’m working on it.”

Stiles snorts.

“I hope the house is coming along fast because your apartment is going to be really fucking cramped for pack meetings.”

Derek grins at him before he lets it settle into a smirk.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in chemistry right now?”

It’s Stiles turn to go pale. He scrambles off of the couch.

“Knowing my schedule by heart, that’s creepy dude!”

Derek flips off his retreating back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the late update. I'm just going to make them super long as an apology. Also sorry for the back and forth POV. My brain is fried.


	17. Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That gets a smile from Isaac. It’s kind of nice.
> 
> “You know, you’re not such a douchebag when our lives are being threatened by tiny, sparkly blue Pixies.”
> 
> The werewolf snorts.
> 
> “Probably because our lives are being threatened by tiny, sparkly blue Pixies.”

In theory it worked, the whole extend the pack thing. It helped Derek gain some severely needed control. It helped anchor both him and Scott even more. It made them all stronger. It looked really fucking good on paper just not so much in practice, at least at first.

Erica went for Allison’s neck. Not literally. Erica did go for Scott’s during the first pack training though, and that’s kind of how the girls' whole hatelationship started. Isaac was a raging, self entitled douche wolf. It was okay the first few days. Really, Stiles got it. His dad was the biggest fucking abusive asshole on the planet. Isaac deserved to walk around like the big wolf on campus (heh). But two weeks of his posturing, _I’m better than you_ bullshit, and Stiles is ready to put wolfsbane in his shampoo. And Boyd, well Boyd is just quiet and stubborn. He goes against almost everything Derek says just because Derek is the one saying it. Stiles kind of likes him the best.

It all comes to a head when Isaac accidentally disturbs a nest of Pixies in the cemetery while working. Apparently, they live underground and do not take kindly to backhoes. 

“I told you to quit your creepy ass job!”

Isaac pulls Stiles behind an ancient headstone as the Pixies swarm towards them without correcting him or mocking the way he shivers at the sound of their translucent silver wings. Those motherfucker _bite_. He just nods his head, eyes more than a little wide with shock.

“Where the hell is Deaton?”

Stiles digs out another clip for his paintball gun. He’s planning on adding at least five more to his Amazon Christmas list. He never thought little bits of plastic and air propelled goo would mean so much to him. He slams the clip in place and clicks the safety off.

“Who the hell knows? Dude is more cryptic than the fucking crypt keeper.”

That gets a smile from Isaac. It’s kind of nice.

“You know, you’re not such a douchebag when our lives are being threatened by tiny, sparkly blue Pixies.”

The werewolf snorts.

“Probably because our lives are being threatened by tiny, sparkly blue Pixies.”

Stiles tries to summon the courage to peak over the gravestone. Suddenly, Isaac perks up beside him.

“Allison’s got the bestiary.”

Stiles sighs in relief. He had to choose between the book and his gun when they were attacked earlier. He has a nasty bite on his shoulder and two dozen Pixie dust piles splattered with neon green. He thinks he made the right choice up until he hears what Isaac says next.

“She can’t read it. I thought you translated it?”

Stiles can tell that Derek is asking him that and not Isaac. He can hear the question in Derek's voice, and he can practically see the bitch face in his head. Stiles sends a bitch face right back in the direction Isaac’s head is tilted in.

“You seriously thought I would carry around a copy of the bestiary in English!?”

He hisses it out between his teeth. If they make it out alive, Stiles is totally making everyone learn a second language. 

“We need to get over there.”

He starts to move but Isaac pins him down.

“I don’t hear anything.”

Stiles opens his mouth, but Isaac slaps a hand over it, eyes wide. Panic crawls it’s way up Stiles throat. He liked it better when it was rolling around in his stomach.

“Stiles, I don’t _hear_ anything.”

That, that shouldn’t be terrifying, but it is. The Pixies’ wings sound like rustling paper, all together they sound like a windstorm ripping through the forest. The cemetery is deathly quiet. Derek is trying to talk to them, Isaac’s head twitches, but he remains silent, panicked. Stiles steels himself and peeks around the gravestone. The Pixies are hovering, wings moving so slow they barely disturb the air, their eyes glued to Stiles and Isaac’s hiding spot. Their teeth glint in the half moon’s light. Stiles reaches back and grabs Isaac by the collar and pulls him up. Together they take a slow step back. The Pixies watch them, unblinking. It’s disturbing as all fuck.

“Sorry about ruining your nest. Really sorry. It was a nice nest. Very, uh, Pixie like. So, yeah. Sorry, again. We’ll just be on our way now.”

One of the Pixies chitters something. Their grins get wider. Stiles knows whatever it said wasn’t good. Not when they stop their eerie stop motion hovering and start screeching. Isaac nearly falls over because he's too busy trying to grab at his ears. Stiles grabs his shirt and runs. They dart between gravestones, the fury of wings behind them urging them faster.

Stiles nearly cries when he sees a flash of blonde hair. Erica saws through a couple of the closer ones with her claws before catching Stiles’ arm and dragging him forward where Allison’s got some kind of flame thrower thing going on and Scott has his bag. Halle-fucking-lujah. He grabs the bag and without thinking reaches for the bottle in the right outside pocket.

There’s a wide circle of mountain ash around them that flings the Pixie’s back before he even knows he’s moved.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

He stares up at Scott, then back down to his clean hands and half empty bottle of ash.

“I didn’t know I could do that.”

Derek glares out at the Pixies, their angry noises getting louder with each passing second. He jerks his head at Isaac to take his spot before he crouches next to Stiles and Allison. She has a few shallow bite marks down her arms that he checks over. His scowl gets scowlier. Derek is _not_ happy. Neither is Scott. He growls from where a group of Pixies are battering against the line of ash. Derek turns to prod at Stiles' shoulder, nose flaring as he catches the scent of blood. Stiles winces when Derek pulls the fabric of his shirt away and the wound starts to bleed again. It’s deep. Isaac had to yank the thing off. He’s probably going to need stitches.

“Stiles, figure out how to kill them.”

He nods and flips open the book Allison hands him. Derek goes back to facing the Pixies. None of the werewolves like being stuck inside the circle of ash. But they don’t like the way the Pixies are eying their human packmates hungrily even more. They form a protective circle around them inside the circle. Stiles snorts. Erica lets her golden eyes scan over them.

“You all right Batman? Allison?”

“Nothing Neosporin can’t fix.”

Derek glares at him. His Eyebrows of Doom are in full effect. It makes Stiles laugh. Allison offers Erica a nod before she starts to take stock of what arsenal she has left. She tosses her empty can of – _bug spray?-_ outside of the circle. The Pixies hiss at it, chittering louder. Isaac winces. He leans heavily on his hearing more than the others. Stiles ignores the chaos around him and finds the right page. He figures out two things very quickly. A Pixie’s power comes from its’ nest. You kill the nest, and you kill the Pixie. The other thing he learns is that the nest is currently not inside the protective ring of mountain ash that’s surrounded by swarming, pissed off Pixies.

“Fuck.”

Derek flexes his claws and growls as his eyes follow the Pixies as they swarm faster around the circle testing out its defenses by hurtling themselves at it.

“What did you find?”

Stiles slams the book shut and shoves it back into his bag.

“Kill the nest, kill the Pixies.”

Derek’s shoulders stiffen. Scott looks back at Stiles and starts shaking his head rapidly. He already knows what his best friend is about to suggest.

“No way, dude. Not a chance in hell.”

Stiles stands and shrugs. He adjusts the paintball gun strapped to his thigh.

“Somebody has to go and burn that thing, and I think I can manipulate the ash to keep them away from me.”

Derek grabs him by the arm, a preventive move to keep him from doing just that.

“You didn’t even know you could make the circle. I’m not letting you out of it because you _think_ you can do it again while moving.”

Stiles glares at him but relents. He knows a bad idea when he has it, but at least he’s trying. Boyd offers up an idea, warily watching the Pixies angrily talking to each other. They are getting more and more restless. Their little bodies rattle against the barrier with way more force than you’d think they have.

“Stiles breaks the circle, we split up, and one of us goes after the nest.”

“It would work, if the Pixies-”

Then all hell breaks loose. The Pixies chittering turns into screaming. The screaming is exponentially worse. Stiles grasps his ears and falls to his knees. Scott is pulling Isaac into his lap as he clutches at his head. Suddenly, Derek is pulling him and Allison down, curving his body over them. It’s over in a matter of seconds, but Stiles can’t seem to move.

“The fuck was that?”

He peeks around Derek’s massive bulk to see Erica rubbing at her ears with a grimace as she looks around at the literal Pixie dust surrounding them. Stiles pulls away to break the barrier. Derek and Boyd are already outside of it making sure the coast is clear. Derek tenses and turns to the shadows moving closer to them.

“Lydia?”

Scott is the one to ask, voice dripping with confusion and awe. Lydia spares him a warm smile and politely ignores Erica who is growling lowly at her. Derek cuts the noise off with a flash of red eyes at his Beta.

“The Pixies won’t be a problem anymore.”

Stiles purposely doesn’t look at Lydia. He focuses instead on the man he can sense moving closer to them. Deaton doesn’t look surprised. He doesn’t even look phased as he easily sidesteps the little mounds of Pixies dust.

“I see that I am no longer needed.”

Derek outright growls at the man. As much as Stiles cracks jokes about Derek being the big bad wolf, he really isn’t. He’s always had ironclad control; even now the amount of control he has over himself is kind of astounding. Derek doesn’t ever lose his shit. Not with the humans at least. He doesn’t even like to raise his voice. Right now, Derek is fucking livid. Stiles grabs his shoulder and pulls him back. The red in his eyes dies out in an instant, but the scowl stays firmly in place. Small victories. 

“Yeah, thanks. Maybe next time try not to show up so late for the party, huh?”

Deaton gives Stiles that enigmatic smile.

“It seems that everyone of importance was already in attendance.”

Stiles shares a look with Scott before turning back to Deaton. Who is still smiling that same smile. It’s still weird.

“I’ll see you this Saturday for training.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He nods before turning to Lydia.

“Miss Martin, welcome back to Beacon Hills. I hope your vacation was… transformative.”

She raises her chin defiantly.

“Yes, it was.”

With a nod to Derek, he starts to pick his way out of the cemetery. Stiles waits until he’s out of hearing range, or what he hopes to be hearing range for a shaman.

“He’s so weird.”

Derek’s shoulders relax a little. Isaac tries to stifle a grin. Scott snorts.

“Speak for yourself.”

 He rolls his eyes at his best friend.

“Stiles.”

He tries not to let his shoulders tense up. They do anyway. He doesn’t turn around. He can’t.

“We can talk when I’m not bleeding from a Pixie bite.”

He starts to walk away, thinking about damage control, but is too angry to really give a damn. The others can handle it just this once. He’s honestly just contemplating having Deaton patch him up, too furious to think of a convincing lie to tell Melissa, when Lydia's voice freezes him in his tracks.

“I was expecting at least a welcome back.”

“You aren’t going to get one. Not from me. Not tonight,” he all but spits at her.

She can’t cover the hurt look in her eyes before Stiles can see it. It makes him even angrier.

“You left.”

“I had to.”

He turns fully to look at her. She looks annoyed, and bored, and so freaking put together in a dress and fitted pea coat and heels in a cemetery surrounded by Pixie dust. It makes him so angry. He can feel the rest of the pack watching. Derek is standing within arms reach. Scott is holding Allison’s hand. Allison keeps shifting her eyes back and forth between them. He ignores the rest of the pack at his back.

“You had to leave, in the middle of the night, without saying goodbye?”

She stands her ground under his scrutiny.

“I needed a clean break."

He laughs. It’s bitter and as dark as the piles of ash around them.

“I get that _now_ , I do. But what I don’t get is how you can’t pick up the phone to tell me, tell us, that Derek was alive and sane. What I don’t get is how hard we looked for him, how hard I looked for him, how much sleep I lost, how I nearly drove myself crazy trying to find him, and you just bump into on the street. You have a freaking conversation with him, and you forget to tell me that my freaking Alpha isn’t some deranged killing machine.”

She goes quiet at that. He’s so angry his hands are shaking.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“He asked me not to. I promised-”

Stiles has never been that great with anger. Or he’s too good with it if he thinks about it. He keeps it, stores it, and lets it fester and incubate inside of him. That anger comes roaring out now. The intensity surprises the pack around him. Only Derek, Scott, and Lydia don’t flinch back. That pisses him off even more that she doesn’t react.

“And I promised that I wouldn’t let you get hurt again!”

She stays impassive even as he stalks toward her.

“I promised, Lydia. I can’t keep my promise if you leave. I can't keep my promise if you don't let me.”

She smiles sadly at him and catches his hands. They stop shaking in her warm grip.

“You can’t keep me from hurting myself, Stiles.”

That douses the anger and smothers it out completely. He slumps against her, and she takes a surprising amount of his weight. Lydia Martin was always stronger than she seemed. She tucks her head under his chin and holds him tightly.

“Yeah, I’m kind of getting that.”

He does get it. He does, but it’s hard to not care about the person he loves. He loves her. He will probably always love her. But he doesn’t love her in the way that she needs to be loved. They could be good together, but Lydia Martin deserves _great_. And you know what? So does he. He hugs her tightly before he takes a step back.

“We’re going to be okay.”

She nods against his shoulder.

“Not tonight, not tomorrow, but yes. We will be.”

He winces as he pulls back. The pain in his shoulder is back and not dulled by adrenaline. It fucking hurts.

“Yeah, I’ve still got a gaping hole in my shoulder that needs to get stitched up.”

She looks at the ripped and bloodied hole in his shirt, the fresh blood soaking into the cloth and making it stick to his skin. She looks worried. He’s still mad at her, but he kind of always hated making people worry about him. Derek breaks the silence that falls around them.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

Lydia shifts her eyes to Boyd, Erica, and Isaac. 

“Tomorrow afternoon. Hale house,” Derek says calmly though some of the Alpha slips in. It's not optional.

Lydia nods at Derek and makes her way over to Allison and Scott. She’s already pulling out her phone and starting to do damage control as if she hadn’t been missing the past few months. Derek unsubtly herds Stiles to the Camaro as he barks orders to his betas about putting things back to rights and getting rid of the ash. Stiles lets him. Werewolves are strong enough to lift a backhoe and move a few gravestones back in place. Stiles has to face Melissa who is on call tonight. The werewolves have the easier job.

* * *

Derek does him the courtesy of not asking what that was all about until they get halfway to the hospital. He could feel it, something about Lydia was different, and he knows that Stiles knows what it was.

“You know how she destroyed the nest don’t you? Why she really left?”

Stiles doesn’t move. He stares straight out the window. He looks less angry and more tired. He also looks a little too pale for Derek’s peace of mind.

“I’m pretty sure, yeah.”

Before Derek can ask, Stiles shakes his head and sighs.

“Can we just talk about this tomorrow? I kind of really just want to get this over with and sleep until noon.” 

Derek relents because Stiles looks exhausted. He trails him into the hospital and helps him fill out paperwork while Stiles texts the Sheriff. He’s a half hour out. He's handling a traffic accident just outside of town that still falls into Beacon Hill's jurisdiction. Stiles sighs and motions at the sliding entrance doors of the Emergency Room. 

"You don't have to stay. I'll be done by the time my dad gets here."

Derek snorts.

“There is no way in hell that I am just leaving you here.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and motions to the phone buzzing in his hand. It’s Erica giving him an update. Derek shoves it back into his pocket and glares at Stiles until he heaves a frustrated sigh and throws his good arm up in the air.

“Fine, just stop with the eyebrows of doom and start with the pain drain. This shit is starting to smart.”

Derek raises an eyebrow but catches Stiles’ wrist and pulls the pain away slowly. He can still smell a steady trickle of blood from Stiles' wound. Derek knows that it’s going to scar. His wolf bristles at the thought of his packmate  _maimed_. He kind of wants to kill the Pixies all over again.

“Stop it with the face.”

Derek blinks down at where Stiles is slumped into the seat next to him.

“What face?”

Stiles jabs a finger at his nose. Derek smacks it away albeit it gently.

“The murder face dude. Knock it off.”

Derek grumbles but rearranges his face into a frown. If that’s worse, Stiles doesn’t say anything. They sit in silence until Melissa gets there. They give her the excuse they’ve managed to come up with. Stiles delivers it with a bashful grin. 

“The porch stairs are not as structurally sound as we thought.”

She nods and directs them to an exam room after making sure the other nurses know to let the Sheriff back as soon as he gets there. She helps Stiles out of his shirt. She doesn’t even comment on the fact that Derek is still in the room. Luckily, the bite doesn't actually look like a bite wound. The Pixie had bit deep, and Isaac had to pull it off of him. It left deep slashes instead of punctures. Derek ignores his need to destroy the Pixies again to focus on the fact that he thinks it's lucky that they could pass off a wound as _normal_. 

“You’re going to need some stitches.”

Stiles nods. Derek grinds his teeth. Stiles must notice because he smirks as he turns back to Melissa.

“I figured as much when it wouldn’t stop bleeding.”

She smacks his good shoulder but smiles fondly at him. Stiles makes an affronted sound. Derek can stop the snort that comes out at his antics. Melissa’s eyes narrow at him, and he suddenly feels a mighty need to check up on his pack (even if he can feel that they are all okay). Before he even makes it a foot closer to the door, excuse about making a phone call on his lips, she points a gloved finger to the empty side chair and then at him. Derek sinks down into it. He glares at the smug grin Stiles shoots him.

“While I have you here Derek, would you like to tell me why my son has been seen driving around on your motorcycle?”

Screw whatever Stiles says, he does not flinch at her polite smile and conversational tone. He doesn’t. He will deny it until his dying day. 

“I may have let him borrow it when he was late to school. He hasn’t given me the keys back.”

She gives him the same look his own mother had given him many times before. He squirms. He’s the Alpha for fuck’s sake. He shouldn’t feel like he got caught stealing cookies before dinner.

“You’re going to ask for them back tomorrow. Then we will all sit down together and discuss this at family dinner on Sunday.”

He nods.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her face softens.

“Melissa.”

“Yes, ma’-Melissa.”

Stiles only stops laughing when Melissa gives him a tetanus shot none too gently. Derek hides his smile behind his hand. By the time the Sheriff gets there, Stiles has nine stitches and a bottle of some low level painkillers. The Sheriff knows what really happened (texts messages are awesome), so he just crosses his arms and sighs.

“I’m beginning to think it might be cheaper to just stick you in a padded room somewhere.”

Stiles grins at him.

“You’d miss me.”

The Sheriff sighs again but even to Derek it sounds put upon. He ruffles Stiles hair gently.

“Yeah, I would.”

Derek helps Stiles into the clean shirt John brought with him. Or tries to. Stiles manages to tug it out of his hands and flip him off at the same time. The Sheriff sighs at his son's antics but turns to Derek to talk quietly as Melissa leaves to get Stiles’ exit paper work.

“Everything taken care of?”

He nods.

“The Pixies won’t be a problem anymore.”

Stiles grunts as he finally gets the shirt on. He grimaces as the fabric brushes against his fresh bandages.

“Lydia made sure of that.” 

There’s that anger again. It’s practically smothering Stiles’ scent. The Sheriff can’t smell it, but he can notice his son’s change in mood.

“I take it I won’t be seeing her around the house anytime soon.”

Stiles shrugs (or tries to) and pulls his hoodie on. He slaps at Derek’s hand as he tries to help. Derek feels a little bit better about his reaction when he does the same to his dad.

“No, not soon.”

The Sheriff and Derek meet eyes over Stiles head. John lifts an eyebrow.

_What’s going on there?_

Derek tilts his head to the side.

_I don’t know, but I’m going to find out._

The Sheriff nods sharply. Stiles looks up, catches them in silent communication, and rolls his eyes so hard Derek is surprised that they haven’t flown out of his head. The Sheriff rolls his right back. Apparently, sarcasm runs in the family. Stiles grabs onto Derek shoulder as he slides off of the exam table. Derek lets him hang on until he is steady on his feet. The Sheriff doesn’t even comment on it, but Melissa narrows her eyes at the contact as she hands John the paperwork to sign.

“You know the drill, kiddo. Keep the bandages on tonight. Don’t get the stitches-”

“Wet. Put the scar cream on twice a day. No itching, scratching, or removing of the stitches on your own. Be back here in 10 days to get them out. If the wound shows any sign of infection, call you immediately and book it to the ER.”

Derek blinks at Stiles. He knew that he was clumsy but not that bad. Melissa smiles and kisses him on the cheek. 

“Now, if only the rest of your school would listen to my first aid seminars." 

He grins and shakes his head fondly. Melissa sidesteps him and gives Derek a kiss on the cheek as well. He freezes in place. He can feel Stiles grabbing at his shoulder, not as hard as he did during their meeting with the hunters on the lacrosse field. It’s gentler this time. It makes him relax as she takes his chin.

“Thank you for bringing him in, but it doesn’t get you out of Sunday dinner.”

He swallows. 

“Yes, ma’am." 

At her raised eyebrow, he hastily corrects himself.

“Yes, Melissa. I’ll be there.” 

She smiles merrily at him. The Sheriff grins at him and lifts an eyebrow. Derek ignores him as he too receives a kiss on the cheek from Melissa. Stiles pretends to gag. Derek shoves him gently mindful of his injury. Derek needs him, the pack needs him, and they especially need him for tomorrow. 


	18. Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Does she really outrank me?”
> 
> Erica gestures toward Lydia with a dismissive hand.
> 
> “I could use her to pick my teeth.”
> 
> Derek doesn’t even open his mouth. He was raised around strong, fiercely independent woman. He knows better. Seems like Scott does too because he clamps a hand over Stiles’ mouth. Lydia’s eyes flare bright green as she grins at Erica.
> 
> “Sweetie, I’d like to see you try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a Christmas miracle!

Derek knew it would be a shit storm the second he stepped foot into the half renovated house. The smell of sawdust and sheetrock makes his nose twitch, but the thrum of half concealed disdain makes his hair stand on end. He can hear the tale end of Erica’s rant about hurting her pack being the last thing Lydia will ever do. The statement is quickly followed by a derisive snort from Stiles as Derek makes his way down the back steps. Erica growls lowly in her throat. Lydia just lifts an expertly arched brow.

“Please, I outrank you.”

Erica turns to face Derek, shooting him a look of loathing and disbelief. He doesn’t deny it. Lydia was a part of his pack first. Before Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Before Allison and even the Sheriff. But age of acceptance didn’t mean much in his family’s pack. It won’t mean much in his. Ability meant something. It’s why Stiles, the Sheriff, and Allison all outranked the werewolves except for Scott. Protection of the pack came before anything else. Derek looks to Stiles only to see his jaw clenched, anger lining his features.

“You could have died for it, Lydia.”

She turns to him with a small, sad smile on her face.

“I almost did, Stiles.”

Stiles' hands clench at his sides. Derek grits his teeth. He knows what his Uncle did almost took her life, but he knows whatever she did, whatever she was seeking out, could have ended much worse if Stiles' reaction is anything to go by. He was in love with Lydia for years. If it’s bad enough for him to hate her… He only knows of one thing that Lydia could have done to cause that anger. He knows of only one thing that Deaton would condone.

“You turned yourself into a familiar.”

Lydia focuses on him. Her chin is raised, head held high, arms at her sides, and shoulders back. Her whole posture and aura scream defiance. Her eyes flash green, brighter than their normal color. It could be brushed off as a trick of the light. It’s how witches get by in the human world. Hiding right under their noses. But what Lydia did, Derek has only heard of in fairytales. It was to keep little werewolves away from magic and little witches and warlocks away from the pull of the moon.

_“Lydia.”_

Allison’s the one that says it. It's laced with shock and hurt. She apparently didn’t have a clue either. Her family has the bestiary. She knows exactly what could have happened if Lydia failed. So does Stiles. Isaac watches silently, nervously scanning the group every few seconds. Boyd is indifferent and Erica looks smug. Scott is the one that steps forward and takes Lydia’s hand. Which isn’t as shocking to Derek as it is to the rest.

“She didn’t have a choice in any of this. So she went out and found one for herself. I don’t blame her for that.”

Scott didn’t have a say in any of this either. He was bitten against his will. Eventually, he accepted it. Derek had a feeling that Lydia wouldn’t. He just didn’t expect her to go out and find someone to teach how to turn herself in a familiar but… Derek understands. The rest of them don’t. Stiles can sense their confusion just as much as Derek can.

“The thing Peter didn’t realize was that Lydia isn’t exactly human. She’s a witch.”

Erica snarls. Stiles and Derek roll their eyes. Her new motto was claw threat now; ask questions later if she feels like it.

“The thing with witches is that they have familiars. It’s funny how some of the Hollywood bullshit is actually true.”

Boyd raises an eyebrow. Stiles huffs.

“The whole cats have nine lives myth? It’s true for a familiar of a witch. They store power in their familiars and use them to help channeling energy like a supernatural battery. Sometimes the power lingers in the familiars and makes their lives last longer.”

Allison speaks up. Her voice is neutral which means that she is pissed too. Boyd eyes her warily. The last time she was this mad the mountainous werewolf nearly took an arrow to the eye.

“A familiar can be killed. You can’t always keep an eye on pets or objects.”

Derek reaches out to squeeze Allison’s shoulder. She leans into the touch and takes a deep calming breath. She understands why Lydia did it, but she isn’t happy about it. Derek tries to explain it in a way that the newest members of the pack could understand. He thinks back to what he first told them when he offered them the bite.

“The wolf is part of you. Always. Lydia found someone to teach her how to bind her wolf to her magic.”

Isaac blinks.

“They can’t kill you if they can’t kill your familiar.”

If anyone else smiled they way Lydia smiles at Isaac, Derek would say it was kindly. Except the way Lydia is smiling at Isaac isn’t kindly, it’s downright calculating. She was a force to be reckoned with before the supernatural world crashed into her. Now she has almost unlimited magic and is an actual force to be reckoned with. Derek would be terrified if she wasn’t on his side, in his pack.

“I don’t plan on letting anyone kill me, ever.”

Her smile turns sharp. Derek is very glad that she’s in his pack. Erica, however, doesn’t. He turns to Derek.

“Does she really outrank me?”

Erica gestures toward Lydia with a dismissive hand.

“I could use her to pick my teeth.”

Derek doesn’t even open his mouth. He was raised around strong, fiercely independent women. He knows better. Seems like Scott does too because he clamps a hand over Stiles’ mouth. Lydia’s eyes flare bright green as she grins at Erica.

“Sweetie, I’d like to see you try.”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. One of these days, he’s going to figure out that nothing is ever calm for long in Beacon Hills.

“Yes, she outranks you. She outranks everyone, but Scott and Stiles.”

He ignores Erica’s shout of protest, Boyd’s shocked expression, and Isaac’s quiet disbelief. He hasn’t done the best with teaching them. But he’s trying. He’s an Alpha now. He has a pack, a _family_ , again. He needs be better and do better for them. But it’s not going to happen overnight. And it sure as hell isn’t going to happen until they are too exhausted to hold onto their anger and fear of being pushed out.

“Now,” he points to Erica and Scott, “you two spar. No hands. Boyd, with me. We need to work on your anchor. Allison, work on your throwing knives. Stiles-”

Erica doesn’t move to follow Scott. She’s still glaring at Lydia.

“We’re not even going to see what she can do? What if she can only do party tricks. That’s going to come in handy the next time we’re up against something big, bad, and scary. She can pull a quarter out of its ear.”

Derek glares at her. Lydia is pack; wolf, witch, human, or otherwise. Erica has no right to challenge her standing. She has no right to question Derek’s judgment. She also has no right to act like such an idiot, not with her heightened sense. Every wolf in the yard can tell that something powerful is coiled in the petite strawberry blonde. Derek crosses his arms over hsi chest and nods at Lydia.

 

She raises a hand. Nothing seems to be happening until all of the trees starts to sway to her, like magnets. Then they drift back like nothing ever happened. Suddenly ,the clouds whip around overhead, a storm brewing out of a cloudless fall day. Then, as quickly as it came, it’s gone. Derek stares at her. Earth and wind. She can manipulate at least two of the elements. She’s already one of the most powerful witches Derek’s ever seen. Yeah, he is fucking lucky that she’s a part of his pack.

She shoots him a smirk, like she knows what he’s thinking. He makes a mental note to ask Deaton about witches and the possibility of them being able to read minds. Stiles looks equal parts proud, amazed, and a little pissed. It’s a look that Derek sees John gives Stiles a lot. He lifts a brow in Erica's direction even if she doesn't quite meet his gaze. 

"Like I said, Scott and Erica are sparring, Boyd is working on strengthening his anchor, Allison is practicing throwing knives, Stiles-"

“Has a date with a crossbow.”

Derek may not be able to smell blood, but he can smell antiseptic. He can see how Stiles is holding his left shoulder stiffly. He glares at Stiles.

“No.”

The teen goes to open his mouth, but seems to think better of it after seeing Derek's scowl. (The smack to the back of his head provided by Allison helps.) He sighs and overdramatically flops down on the back porch steps, tugging his bag closer like it’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Fine. I have stupid journals to read anyway.”

Derek rolls his eyes the same time Scott does. Lydia sighs and tosses her hair over one shoulder. She locks her gaze on Isaac. She motions toward the forest.

“You have a 60 second head start. If I find you in less than five minutes, I will be extremely disappointed.”

Isaac’s eyes widen, like the thought of disappointing Lydia Martin would be the end of the world. Derek sighs internally. It seems like everything has changed and, at the same time, everything is exactly the same.

* * *

"Stiles will eat anything.” 

Derek watches as the boy in question glares at his best friend. He has to dodge a flailing hand.

“Dude, I ate glue once. Once! I was six!”

Derek really doesn’t know why he expected something different. They always do this, argue over who eats the weirdest food. One of them always tries to goad the other into ordering the Hub Cap, a special at Hank’s Diner that consisted of odd and ends leftover from pretty much every order available. Derek saw someone order it and proceed to throw the whole thing up a half an hour later when he was 10. Laura managed to make halfway through it on her 16th birthday before even she had to give up. Hell, his mom is still the only one to ever eat the entire thing and keep it down.

Lydia locks eyes with Erica as they share a fond sigh. The last week had been tense until Lydia complemented Erica’s boots. Somehow that had been the ceasefire, and the pack settled again. Even Allison stopped giving her the cold shoulder. Which is how Derek finds himself stuck in a booth between Stiles and Boyd. The girls had demanded weekly dinners at Frank’s with a strict no talking about the supernatural policy. Seriously, all the boys were threatened on pain of arrows, claws, and unfortunate jinxes. The females in his back were terrifying. He still wonders if it’s okay to be so proud of that fact.

The food arriving distracts him and the quiet conversations going on around him. Stiles takes a second from bitching about Chemistry to help the waitress hand out food. He hands Allison her tatertots with a disgusted look on his face.

“Heathen.”

Allison just grins and sips her drink as everyone else settles again. There’s a scuffle for ketchup that leads Derek to reach behind him to the next booth to grab a bottle for himself. He doesn’t flash his eyes as a warning to Erica, but it’s a near thing.

“Why, why do they always put onions?”

Stiles pokes them off his burger with the end of a curly fry.

“I’ll take them.”

Boyd lifts the top of his own burger. Stiles stares at Derek for a heartbeat before his face breaks out into a wide grin. He tosses the offending vegetables onto Boyd’s dinner.

“Dude, we are so pack.”

Derek just rolls his eyes as he plops ketchup on his chicken sandwich. Isaac is making a little log cabin of mozzarella sticks. Erica is helping him make a moat around it in marinara sauce. Lydia looks content with her Cobb salad enough so that she lets Scott pluck out a crouton. Derek silently drops both slices of tomato from his sandwich onto Stiles’ burger. He ignores Stiles soft smile. He knows they are pack. He’s known for a while now. It’s just good that they’ve started to see it too.


	19. Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Erica is a mix between Ravenclaw and Slytherin.”
> 
> Isaac flops into the open armchair with a grin.
> 
> “Smart and sneaky. You’d totally sneak your name into the Goblet of Fire and not get caught.”
> 
> She tosses her hair over her shoulder with a wicked grin. Her eyes narrow when they land on her Alpha.
> 
> “Derek is totally in Gryffindor.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a paintball gun. You heal faster than it takes to bruise.”

Isaac glowers. He’s been in a bad mood all day. His father is refusing to sign the emancipation paperwork. Stiles' dad can’t do anything but keep the restraining order in place. So Isaac’s been staying with Scott and Melissa. Stiles had quickly noticed that Isaac has issues with people doing nice things for him. He literally didn’t know what to do when the Sheriff hugged him before leaving the courthouse. Isaac understandably has issues with physical contact. Which is why Derek has him practicing scenting, tracking, and generally evading Stiles’ quick trigger finger. Only Derek or Scott are allowed to spar with him. They know when to push, when to back down, and when to let Isaac land a hit. Stiles is good at reading people too. He knows that Isaac is at his limit. He leaves the werewolf panting on the forest floor behind Hale House. Stiles tucks his gun back into the holster under his arm and picks up the glass mason jar off the back porch and the little pouch next to it.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, trying to get the stupid charm through the smallest possible bottle that Deaton could find. Screw his weird ass training methods. If he’s a spark, he should get to do something… _sparky_. He looks up in time to see Isaac dig into his black Jansport. Scott has taken to calling the old backpack _The Gobstopper_ because the list of things Stiles has in there was never ending. In reality, Deaton just kept giving him stuff, and they all just ended up in his bag. He’s warned Scott not to go digging into it after the hives incident. Now, he wishes he would have put that warning label on it for the rest of the pack.

“See how it feels whenever you get shot.”

Stiles drop the glass he’s holding when he sees the gun pointed at him. It shatters at his feet.

“ISAAC! STOP!”

Allison’s is running full out toward him, but Scott stops her. Derek is already there, knocking Isaac over, gun falling from his shocked hands as his Alpha towers over him snarling. Stiles spares a second to thank god that the safety was on before rushing over to where Derek is now on all fours in front of Isaac. His whole body is shaking with the need to shift. Stiles can see his muscles straining under his shirt.

“Fuck.”

The betas stop what they’re doing and hold unnaturally still. Stiles drops to his knees in front of Derek. He roughly shoves Isaac behind him. He can hear clothing starting to rip as Derek shifts involuntarily and forces himself to shift back. There’s a low growl coming from him that is almost subsonic. Stiles can feel it better than he can hear it. He tries to reach out to him, but Derek flinches back, digs his claws into the ground, and holds them there. His eyes are red-hot and wild looking. Stiles tips his head back, baring his throat, showing Derek that he isn’t challenging him, before dropping his head again.

“He didn’t mean it, Derek. He didn’t know.”

Derek’s back makes a sickening crack. He bows up with it before he forcibly pulls himself back down and forces himself back to human form. The sound that his bones make send Stiles’ stomach churning.

“Fuck, fuck! Okay. Listen to my heart. Derek, focus.”

Stiles knows Derek can understand him. His shoulders are shaking, and he’s panting harshly. His legs spasms, and his jeans rip completely up one leg. He’s sweating but his eyes are focused on Stiles.

“Listen to Scott’s.”

Derek groans but jerks his head down. A nod. It's slight but there, and Stiles catches it.

“Allison.”

He doesn’t wait to get a go ahead. He just keeps running through the pack. Lydia, Boyd, Erica, Isaac. Isaac’s panicked heartbeat makes Derek whimper, but Stiles pushes past it.

“We’re all fine. Okay? We’re safe. Now _again_. Me.”

He goes through them all again, repeating names at random, but Derek is still crouched there, hands still buried in the earth. He’s not forcibly shifting but his body is still tense and shaking. is eyes are still red.

“Everyone start humming a song.”

“What?”

He wants to turn and snap at Erica, but he doesn’t dare break the look with Derek.

“Fucking do it.”

Scott and Allison do it without hesitation. The others follow.

“Scott.”

Derek works his throat. His voice comes out raw and deep, almost a growl.

“Weezer.”

Stiles nods.

“Boyd.”

“Fall Out Boy.”

He gets to Erica and Derek snorts.

“Justin Bieber.”

She squawks, “I panicked!”

Stiles looks at Derek still there, held stiff but not tense, knows that he’s okay, but he’s not ready to get back up. Not ready to admit that he’s in control again. He’s scared. So Stiles forges on ahead.

“What soap did Allison use today?”

If any of the others find it weird, they don’t say anything.

“Lavender.”

“Did Scott put deodorant on this morning?”

“No.”

Stiles mutters a _told you so_ under his breath even though he knows Scott can hear it.

“What kind of gum did Boyd chew before he got here?”

“Spearmint.”

“What’s the song Scott’s humming?”

Scott immediately starts humming something.

“Brass Monkey.”

“Erica’s heartbeat.”

He waits a second to see Derek’s eye shutter.

“My dad’s heartbeat.”

“Elevated.”

Stiles takes that into consideration. His dad is miles away from them. Derek’s either really going after it or his senses are that much better as Alpha.

“That means he’s actually using the gym at the station.”

Derek snorts. He looks ready to get up but, Stiles needs him to know that they’re okay.

“My heartbeat.”

Derek bows his head.

“Calm, Steady.”

“Isaac’s heartbeat.”

“… calm, steady.”

Stiles nods and falls back on his haunches. Derek just lists to the side and falls on his back taking in lungful of air, of his pack safe. Stiles does the same after a second and tips his head back to point at the wolves in a wide arch.

“New rule. Nobody touches the human’s stuff. I have dangerous shit in that bag, and even I don’t know what half of it does.”

Derek grasps his ankle and squeezes.

“Not helping.”

Stiles kicks it off. Derek’s fine, but he’s being paranoid. Which, coming from Stiles, is the epitome of the pot calling the kettle black. Isaac crouches next to him. He still looks pale and shaky.

“I am so sorry, Stiles. I had no idea it was even real. I thought it was another paintball gun. I had no idea.”

Stiles nods and pulls himself up to sit, dragging Isaac down next to him, an arm thrown over his shoulders.

“I would say it’s okay, but you still pointed a loaded gun at my face that you should have been able to smell was a gun if you didn't let your temper get the best of you."

Isaac shrinks in on himself, and Stiles feels a tiny bit bad.

"Just, don’t go into my bag again unless I specifically tell you to get something out of it. I’m serious. There’s a lot of crap in there that can hurt you. That can hurt the pack.”

They all nod. Stiles grins at them.

“And also, everyone is getting fucking gun safety lessons.”

He falls back to the grass and lets the panic slowly seep out of his muscles. If Derek’s hand wrapped around his left calf is odd, no one says anything.

* * *

Sunday night finds Derek sitting at the McCall’s dinner table. Scott is on his right, Isaac is on his left, and Melissa is across from him with a wine glass in one hand and a serving spoon for the enchiladas (the smell alone is making everyone’s mouth water) in another. Derek can feel the sweat on the back of his neck. It’s making Isaac nervous. It’s making Scott burst out in spontaneous giggles. He glares at the teen. It's his fault Derek's facing the firing squad. Scott only laughs harder. His mother kicks him under the table making him yelp. Derek’s smirk quickly dies under Melissa’s narrowed eyes.

“So let’s talk about you letting my son drive around town on the back of a vehicle that has put more people into my ER than I’d care to count.”

Scott sobers up even more at that. Derek fidgets but doesn’t drop her gaze.

“I know that he’s already gotten his MC license. He was running late for school one day, so I gave him the keys.”

Melissa takes a sip of her wine.

“And you didn’t ask for them back or think to ask his mother for permission?”

Derek ducks his head.

“I should have made sure it was okay what you first. I apologize for that. But I won’t apologize for letting Scott borrow her. I know he’s been saving up for his own bike. And I know that it’s been hard on you, taking care of Scott and Isaac… and me.”

He sees his own mother in her when her eyes soften, and she gives him a gentle smile. He takes a breath and plows ahead, ignoring the tightening bands around his chest.

“I just wanted to make it easier on you. Scott doesn’t have to worry about getting to school on time, and now he can get to work without you having to change your schedule. I know you don’t like working the late shifts, but we really don’t like you driving home so late when you’re exhausted.”

All of them murmur their agreement. Her smile grows fonder. She ruffles Scott’s hair then leans over slowly and does the same to Isaac. She can't reach that far across the table but Derek is sure that she'd like to do the same to him. Instead, she gives him a soft grin before her eyes go hard again. Derek braces himself.

“Before you give my son access to any more heavy machinery, you ask me first alright? Same goes for Isaac.”

Derek nods, surprise clearly written across his face. Scott is staring at her with wide eyes. She snorts.

“You do realize that your dad used to ride, right? It’s kind of how we met. Just promise me you’ll wear a helmet and a riding jacket. You look enough like him, you don’t need to add a matching scar on your chin.”

Melissa smiles as Scott’s mouth falls open. She turns a blinding smile to Derek.

“You can work out a payment plan if you really plan on letting him have it.”

Derek shakes his head.

“What you’re doing for me and for Isaac? The bike is Scott’s if he wants it.”

When he turns to Scott, he has to chuckle at the gobsmacked look on his face. He hopes Isaac’s flailing in the corner of his vision is him taking a picture. The whole pack needs to see this. Erica is going to have a field day photoshopping it into things.

“We’re brothers now. It’ll transfer over the title, put the insurance in your name. As long as you take care of the bills, it’s yours.”

Scott nearly lunges himself over the table at him. Derek laughs into his shoulder as Scott hugs him with his full strength, the wolf slipping out in his excitement. He pats him on the back and ignores his constant stream of _thank you’s_. Isaac is stealthily helping himself to the biggest enchilada. Derek rolls his eyes and shoves Scott off. He’s all for touchy feely moments with his pack, but it's every wolf for himself when it comes to Melissa’s enchiladas. She smiles down at her own plate rolling her eyes at their antics. Derek doesn’t even feel bad smacking Scott’s greedy guacamole hording hands away from the second largest enchilada.

* * *

 When they finally make it up to the garage apartment, it’s to find the rest of the pack gathered around the TV. Derek rolls his eyes.

“Harry Potter really?”

Erica flips him off. Lydia sneers from her place on Boyd’s right. It doesn't hold any heat behind it.

“We are trying to place each other in the appropriate houses.”

Allison leans back into Boyd’s legs from where she’s sprawled on the floor now with Scott partially in her lap and under the coffee table. The apartment is really too small for them all.

“I’m Gryffindor. Lydia is Slytherin. Boyd and Isaac are Hufflepuffs.”

Boyd folds his arms over his chest, but the stance doesn’t really match the fond smile on his face. He tugs at one of Allison’s stray curls. She grins over her shoulder at him.

“Erica is a mix between Ravenclaw and Slytherin.”

Isaac flops into the open armchair with a grin.

“Smart and sneaky. You’d totally sneak your name into the Goblet of Fire and not get caught.”

She tosses her hair over her shoulder with a wicked grin. Her eyes narrow when they land on her Alpha.

“Derek is totally in Gryffindor.”

He frowns at Scott. Stiles snorts. Derek follows the sound to the teenager wrapped up in his comforter on the bed, nose an angry red. He looks tired. The cold that swept through Beacon Hills had hit him pretty hard. He’d been out sick for the better part of a week. He should actually still be in his bed recuperating. Derek quirks an eyebrow at him. Stiles rolls his eyes and immediately looks like he regrets it.

“You’re all heart you big softie. We know you gave Scott the Harley.”

It’s Derek's turn to roll his eyes. He doesn’t really mean it, not with the contentment rolling through the pack bounds curling around in his chest. He wants to let out a happy rumble, something Laura used to tease him about when they were kids. Instead, he slips off his shoes and lies next to Stiles on the bed. He can still see the TV, but the bottom half of the screen is obscured by his pack’s heads. Stiles grumbles about it which quickly turns into a cough. Derek doesn’t even think. His hand is already slipping under the collar of Stiles' shirt and gently resting on his neck. Stiles sags into his side as he starts to pull his pain.

“Definitely Gryffindor.”

He chuckles softly.

“Then what are you?”

Stiles grins at him sleepily.

“I’m a motherfucking Ravenclaw.”

Derek shakes his head ready to argue he's a Slytherin, but he turns back to the movie. Stiles doesn't' need to be getting worked up about anything right now. Derek watches his pack argue over houses and who was the better Dumbledore (Richard Harris all the way). Stiles stays quiet, only offering his advice when prompted. Scott keeps checking on him regularly. They all do. Stiles doesn’t seem bothered by it. If he is, he doesn’t show it. He even lets Derek magnanimously steal back one of his own pillows to prop himself up against his headboard. Derek doesn’t even shake him off when he falls asleep against his shoulder half an hour in. Derek kind of wishes he was awake just to see him rage at the complete inaccuracy of Dumbledore flipping shit at Harry Potter during the Goblet of Fire’s naming scene.


	20. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why did your father just call me and stress the fact there is a double rainbow over Beacon Hills?”
> 
> Stiles promptly chokes on his milk. When he answered the phone, that was the last thing he would ever expect Derek Hale to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. But hey, I figured if Jesus can rise from the dead then I could churn out a chapter.

“Why did your father just call me and stress the fact there is a double rainbow over Beacon Hills?”

Stiles promptly chokes on his milk. When he answered the phone, that was the last thing he would ever expect Derek Hale to say. Scott has to clap him on the back. Isaac snickers. Erica looks concerned and amused in equal measure. Boyd looks like he wishes he still had a table to himself. Allison and Lydia are so used to his shenanigans that they don’t even pause their conversation. This is not how he saw his Friday going.

“WH- _WHAT!?”_

He can picture Derek’s annoyed eye roll, but he’s still kind of floundering when Scott grabs the phone from him.

“The Leprechauns are back.”

“Oh, you mean the Leprechauns that we _don’t_ talk about? Those Leprechauns?”

And yeah, that’s annoyance in his voice. Isaac’s eyes flash. They’ve learned that along with his amped up hearing he’s the best at sensing emotions. It’s a fucked up sort of perk from years of reading his father’s moods. Lydia reaches out a hand to rest on his forearm, and he settles quickly. Stiles idly notices Jackson standing stiffly and stalking out of the cafeteria with Danny on his heels. Boyd catches it too if his quirked eyebrow is anything to go by.

Stiles wrestles the phone away from Scott as he snags his bag and heads to the empty APUSH class just down the hall from the caf. He has to clamp down a hysterical giggle when he realizes that the whole table gets up and follows him like little ducklings. He also has a flash of an image of Derek in a flower crown while mimicking that guy from the youtube video. He chooses to ignore it because he does has a sense of self preservation regardless of what some people seem to think.

“We don’t talk about them for a reason. A very important reason. One that means some bad shit is about to do down if they are back.”

“I didn’t push you to tell me before. I trusted you, and I trusted that you took care of the problem. But somebody had better tell me what the hell happened. _Now_.”

The wolves all hunker down a little in response to Derek’s Alpha voice. Stiles makes a mental note that it works over the phone for future reference. You never know when shit like that will come in handy. He makes sure the door is shut and puts the phone on speaker at Lydia’s annoyed foot tap. He forgets that she gave up her wolfy side and all its perks to make herself her own familiar.

“They rolled into town a few months back. At first, they just threw a little luck around, both good and bad. They played a few pranks, but things got out of hand quickly when they weren’t getting their hands on the gold they wanted. The thing about Leprechauns that Hollywood gets wrong? Leprechauns only take lost gold. They find and take the lost rings at the beach, that dropped necklace in the mall parking lot, raid the lost and found shit, you know? Well apparently Beacon Hillites keep track of their bling, and there wasn’t much to find. So the Leprechauns started to get a little lax with their finders keepers rule. Like robbing the jewelry store on Elm and stealing gold wire from an electrician while he was using it to ground a house. He ended up in a coma from the shock he got. We found them, and we took care of it.”

Stiles can practically picture Derek grinding his teeth. He seriously needs to ask if they grow back, for science.

“It doesn’t look like you took care of it, Stiles."

Stiles locks eyes with Scott and then with Allison. They both look grim and determined to take this particular secret to the grave. Good.

“Trust me, they wouldn’t come back unless they absolutely had to.”

Derek is quiet on the other end of the line. Stiles will bet his comic collection that he’s glaring off into the distance.

“Look, they haven’t done anything except announce their presence.”

“Then we find them and ask them to leave.”

Stiles blinks at the phone. It almost sounds like Derek’s going to be reasonabl-

“And if they don’t, we make them leave.”

Stiles rolls his eyes in sync with Lydia. He tries to give her a high five, but she leaves him hanging. He smoothly rakes his hand through his hair. Boyd shakes his head. Erica smirks and ruffles his hair, destroying his work of smoothing it back. He flails until she moves away from him, throwing in a karate chop just to see her smile.

“The tracking spell should work just like it did last time,” Stiles says as he moves around the room as he thinks.

Allison glares at him.

“Oh, you mean you meant to drag us through the swamp for three miles when they were really just hanging out in the abandoned mall at the outskirts of town? The one we could have taken I5 to get there in less than six minutes?”

Stiles lets out a hurt sound as Lydia shoves him and takes his phone without so much as a by your leave. The women in this pack are _ruthless_.

“I’ll do the tracking spell, but not until after school. Some of us can’t miss any more trigonometry classes.”

Isaac looks sheepish at her pointed glare. Scott looks disappointed. He hates trig. Stiles sighs.

“Hang tight Sourwolf, we’ve got two more periods to go.”

He hangs up before Derek has a chance to argue with him or yell about the nickname. The whole pack blinks at Stiles and the now dark phone.

“What? Do you want him to go talk to a horde of Leprechauns by _himself_?”

Scott shudders and even Lydia looks skeptical. Stiles throws up his hands in a ta-dah motion. 

“Exactly, let’s get this over with.”

* * *

They are a mile away from where the locator spell, cast by Lydia without so much as a drop of blood this time, tells them the Leprechauns are making camp. Ridiculously enough, it’s at the tail end of the freaking rainbow.

“What do you mean no? That wasn’t a question Stiles. Tell me what happened." 

Stiles ignores Derek to check in his rearview mirror. Apparently, Lydia’s dad is trying to buy her affections back even after she straight up told him that the only reason she went with him was because she wanted a vacation… and needed to track down a coven of witches to help her with her little furry problem. Even her mother knew that Lydia was only going with him to meet her own needs. (The Martin women could run the world if they ever wanted to. Then he thinks about Melissa joining up with them, and Stiles really doesn’t like to think about it too much because it’s too fucking terrifying to process.) That meant shit to him apparently because Lydia has a brand spanking new Range Rover that she drives off road like a pro. Seriously, Stiles would be envious if he didn’t love Roscoe so much. The old Wrangler got him into and out of so many tough spots over the last year.

“ _Stiles._ ”

Stiles rolls his eyes and pulls the car to a stop next to a boulder half the size of the jeep.

“Speaking in italics will not make me answer you,” Stiles explains as he parks.

He grabs his bag from the back before Derek can open his mouth.

“Also, the Alpha voice doesn’t work on me, so save it. We’ve got Leprechauns to find.”

Then he’s out the jeep and heading toward Allison who's already notching an arrow. Derek is hot on his heels.

“We are going to talk about this.”

Stiles snorts at Derek's hard tone.

"Sure we are."

Stiles ignores his Alpha and starts to check over his ammo situation. He makes sure he has a bottle of mountain ash in his left pocket and a freeze charm Deaton and Lydia helped him make in his right. Allison steps forward as she adjusts the knife on her hip. Scott looks charmed by the action. Stiles rolls his eyes along with Isaac.

“They’re fast and small, and they can use magic to teleport themselves in and out of our plane. The good news is that they heal like humans do, so we have that going for us at least.”

Stiles motions toward Derek who is scowling at him. Stiles bares his teeth at him just to be ornery. Derek tends to be a little more unforgiving when he’s annoyed or angry. It is surprisingly useful during a fight. Boyd, voice of reason, speaks up.

“What’s our plan?”

Scott cracks his knuckles and then his neck.

“We have an advantage over them. They don’t have senses like we do. If we get to the Clan leader, we won’t have to hurt any of the others. He’s pretty much like Sauron except they follow him because they have to.”

Derek nods and gives them all the Alpha eyes.

“Don’t take chances. Keep one of us in your line of sight at all a times.”

He makes sure to stare Allison and Stiles down until they nod. Lydia adjusts her leather gloves and flips her hair over her shoulder completely ignoring Derek.

“There’s a spell that I can modify to temporarily stop their phasing abilities.”

Derek glares at her but nods and motions at Boyd.

“Stay with her.”

Boyd’s kind of a vicious defender which isn’t all that surprising really. He’d confessed to Stiles once that Lydia reminds him of his littler sister, the one who disappeared 6 years ago, the one whose case still sits on the Sheriff’s desk waiting to be closed. If they want to get to Lydia, they have to get through Boyd, and Boyd is a fucking rock.

They slip into pairs easily. Boyd and Lydia start slinking into the shadows. Stiles knows she needs to be a safe distance away somewhere near her elements (earth, air, and, very recently, water). Scott and Isaac are already gone on near silent feet. Stiles is kind of proud of them both. He didn’t even see them go. Allison and Erica are next, silent and deadly. Once they put their differences aside, they kind of turned into a deadly pair. Erica is vicious and light on her feet. Allison has deadly aim and quick reflexes, both physically and mentally. They are kind of terrifying one their own but together… Stiles is certain Derek could send just them in and things would be handled pretty much immediately.

“The girls in this pack are kind of terrifying.”

Derek, honest to god, grins.

“I know.”

Stiles fights the smile off his face and trudges into the woods. He’s pretty much ignoring what happened last time they fought the Leprechauns. It wasn’t a good night for him or Scott and Allison. He’s expecting a repeat performance. But this time he’s got a pack of werewolves, a super witch, a Hunter heiress, three clips of mojo, and a brand spanking new charm meant to freeze everyone that Stiles wills to freeze. He’s expecting blood and mayhem. What he gets is a clearing paused in what looks like the middle of teatime.

“Uh, hello?"

A freckled face man stands and bows. So far this encounter is a lot less bloody than the last time. He shoots Scott a look. He’s still clawed up, and his fangs are dropped. They are tricky little bastards. It’s probably why Stiles' gun is still drawn and trained on one of the Leprechauns that went for him last time. It’s why Allison’s bow is still drawn and aimed directly for the Clan leader’s head.

It’s not the same man as last time. There is a distinct lack of blood lust in this one. Lydia enters the clearing with Boyd at her side. Her eyes are doing that weird green glowing thing that means her spell is holding. Derek inches ahead of Stiles and growls. All the Leprechauns in the clearing tense except for the Clan leader. He actually takes a step forward and bares his throat. Stiles sends the confused look Isaac sends him right back across the clearing.

“Alpha Hale, we apologize for the havoc we caused in your territory earlier this year, and the harm we caused to your pack. We are… under new management.”

Stiles offers the impish looking man a small smile. He’d tried to convince the Leprechauns holding him hostage that he’d be a poor choice for trade or, when they started to get bitey, dinner. He’s all string and bones and sarcasm. He also tried to convert them to Buddhism. When that earned him a nasty kick to the kidneys, he started harking about finding a new leader, someone who’d at least provide dental. Derek ignores the polite exchange between them. He has his patient face on. Which looks a lot like his bored face. It’s all in the eyebrow really.

“So you come back, uninvited, again?”

The clan leader lowers his head and performs some sort of bow. It’s actually really elegant even with the leaves getting stuck in his trailing beard.

“We had no other way to contact you. We apologize for how we went about asking for a meeting, but we did not leave on the best of terms during our last one.”

Allison glares at one of the Leprechauns that tried to bite her wrist off last time to get to one of the gold bangles she was wearing at the time. She was more pissed that it couldn’t tell that it wasn’t real gold than being pissed at it for trying to you know, maim her. (Seriously, the women in this pack.)

“Next time, maybe don’t let the crazy guy be the Clan leader. Trust me, you make more friends by not actively trying to disembowel them.”

He motions toward Isaac who scowls at him. Scott rolls his eyes.

“They didn’t try to disembowel you Stiles.”

Stiles glares at him. Trying to rip your jaw out isn’t the literal definition of disemboweled, but it’s on the same level of GRUESOME AND TERRIFYING DEATH. Scott just clenches his jaw harder. Stiles really just wants to get this over with. Scott however doesn’t. Because of the years of friendship between them, Stiles knows that Scott’s about to bring _IT_ up. He ignores the _drop it_ vibes Stiles and Allison are both giving off.

“They were going to pull your teeth out!”

Stiles rounds on Scott. The _drop it_ plan flies completely out the window due to stress, and Derek’s unnerving glare. Seriously, Stiles can practically feel it boring into the side of his face.

“You couldn’t take two seconds to come up with a better plan to save me from the Leprechauns by promising them gold and then giving it to them in the form of a golden freaking shower!?”

Allison is pointedly not looking at any of them. Scott is giving his whole earnest, _I would do anything to save my best friend_ look. Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose. Derek, the asshole Alpha that he is, cracks up laughing. Seriously, he’s laughing so hard that he has to brace a hand against his ribs and the other against a tree. Boyd looks ready to just leave town. Fortunately, Erica and Isaac seem pretty calm about the whole thing. They’re probably in shock. Stiles gives them an annoyed hand flail that he hopes they interrupt as _welcome to the pack, no refunds or exchanges_.

The Leprechauns patiently wait for the pack to focus back on the topic at hand. Meaning they have to wait for a solid 3 minutes for Derek to calm the fuck down.

“We have come to swear fealty to the Hale Pack. For as long as our clan lives, we shall call you friend and aid you in times of need.”

That effectively puts a damper on the giggles. (Seriously, Derek actually giggled at the end, the asshole.) Derek straightens and adjusts his stance for optimal looming power.

“My pack has done nothing to receive such an alliance.”

Usually, Stiles would give Derek shit for his trust issues, but in this case, he’s all for it. Scott, Allison, and Stiles were ready to kill them if they had to, to protect the town. And now this? He rests his hand on his thigh holster. He sees Allison shift back and into a balanced stance out of the corner of his eye. Scott is already in place at Derek’s left, Isaac at his back. Boyd must sense something because he nudges Erica to flank Allison while he subtly moves to Stiles’ right to cover both him and Lydia if he needs to.

“We may be tricksters, Alpha Hale, but we have honor. We wronged your pack, almost harmed one of them, and encroached on your territory. This is the only way we can repay you for your mercy.”

Derek and Stiles share a look. Apparently, word travels fast in the supernatural community. Yeah, they dealt with some Leprechauns, a Fury, a Changeling, and that Rougarou. But Stiles will be the first to admit that most of it was blind luck, really good timing, and a hell of a lot of bluffing. Scott seems to get it too because he gets a pinched look on his face. Derek steps forward and let’s his eyes bleed out red. He’s gotten a lot better at the control thing since the gun incident. Stiles is kind of ridiculously proud.

“We accept your offer. We will claim you as friend for as long Hale Pack holds this territory.”

He manages to shake the clan leader’s hand without making stooping to his level look childish. Kudos to Alpha powers. For some reason the leader turns and extend his hand to Stiles next. Derek is looking at him sharply, like the first time Allison handed him a throwing knife. Stiles squats down and shakes the hand firmly. The rest of the pack relaxes as the tension in the small clearing bleeds out into nothing. Allison lowers her bow, claws get put away, and Lydia breaks the spell with a flick of her fingers. The Leprechauns present smile at them and poof out of existence. Erica startles, and Isaac flinches just a little.

“Until our next meeting, Alpha Hale. May it always be on better terms.”

He poofs out a second after Derek nods his head in agreement. At least the new leader understands how territorial wolves can be. What they don’t know is how much of a dick they can be.

Derek is smirking at him. Stiles flips him off and starts trudging back to the jeep. He is also ignoring Scott trying to convince the rest of the pack that he did the right thing and the only thing he could think of at the time. As far as Stiles is concerned, shit is handled. He can now go home, deny that anything happened, repress what he can’t deny (Leprechauns, what Leprechauns?), and marathon Game of Thrones. Derek throws a wrench in those plans by speaking. And, honest to god, there is even a smirk in his _voice_.

“Now, I know why you didn’t want to talk about it, but Stiles, we don’t kink shame. We’re all inclusive in this pack.”

Stiles flips him off over his shoulder. It’s not that he’s that upset about it. Yeah, it’s embarrassing. And it’s not like Scott did it on him. But…Derek is actually having fun. He’s laughing and cracking jokes, and he’s fucking smiling. Stiles was prepared for mockery and disdain and maybe he was expecting anger at sullying the Hale name with unsavory acts. He wasn’t expecting fucking eye crinkles and mirth and an adorable bunny toothed grin. He holds tight to his anger and swings up into the driver's seat to crank Roscoe’s engine.

“Laugh it up, fur ball. Big Bad Alpha can walk his ass home.” 

The sad thing is that Derek does. And he beats all of them back to Stiles’ house where they crash his Game of Thrones marathon. They don’t bring up the incident again. He thinks Allison has something to do with that. Boyd keeps side eyeing her all night long. Isaac does admit that he would pee on Stiles to save his life if he had to. He winds up with a bowl of popcorn down his pants at Derek’s doing no less. Stiles focuses on his hatred of Joffrey instead of the weird twisty thing his stomach is doing over Derek’s protectiveness. It helps that Orion likes to pretend that he's Ghost and tries to reenact the direwolf's actions in real life.


	21. Raving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “From what I hear Stiles, you look good enough to eat,” the vampire drawls.
> 
> Even though Deucalion can’t see it, the other vampires will. He tugs the collar of his shirt down to show the top of his shoulder. The Pixie bite healed but left a pretty badass scar. Turns out anti-scar cream doesn’t function well against supernatural wounds. Stiles wears it pretty proudly.
> 
> “Just a warning. When something tries to take a bite out of me, I bite back.”
> 
> Deucalion laughs softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some season 3 characters appear!

“Go pick up the pizza, Stiles. It’ll be super fast, Stiles. You’ll be back before the opening credits, Stiles. UGHHH.”

He’s been standing in line for 30 minutes at Joe’s, the only pizza place worth eating at in Beacon Hills. Screw Isaac’s weird obsession with Dominos. Even with the whole company overhaul, the pizza is still two steps above cardboard. Apparently, Isaac is still mad at him for the comment because the asshole told the guy who took the order to wait to make the pizzas until Stiles got there for “maximum freshness.” So Stiles has been waiting for 30 minutes for 10 pizzas. He is going to get Isaac back for this. He’s just coming up with a list of pranks with low to medium volatile response levels when the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. His fingers are already closing around the switchblade in his pocket. Figuring out and compiling an Everyday Carry after stumbling onto that preparedness blog on tumblr was probably the best decision he’s made in a while.

“I’ve been told the pizza here is the best in town.”

Stiles turns toward the voice. He’s greeted with a handsome, grinning face and muscle. Like ridiculous amounts of muscle. Stiles is honestly surprised his shirt hasn’t torn in half. It’s two sizes too small. Stiles forces himself to relax. He can’t knife a guy in public. It probably has more to do with getting banned from Joe’s and less to do with his dad having to arrest him. The man is leaning against one of the empty hightops. And Stiles can see a hint of fang in his smile. Stiles knows he isn’t a werewolf.

“I’m told that this place has the best garlic crust in NorCal.”

And really, that crosses off everything but two things from Stiles' list of possibilities. Besides, the guy is way too tall to be a Sprite.

“Yeah, good thing I’m not a Vampire. It’s one of my favorites. I suggest the Parmesan cheese crust if _you_ are looking to get a pie.”

The man’s grin grows. His eyes darken as he takes a step closer to Stiles. 

“It seems like the rumors are true about the boy who runs with wolves.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at the Vampire in front of him. God fucking damn it.

“You know what they say? Believe none of what you hear and half of what you read.”

The guy quirks an eyebrow at him and flicks his eyes slowly over him. A smirk slowly stretches across his lips as he brings his eyes back up to meet Stiles’. He ignores how the guy’s eyes linger on his neck. The fucking cliché of it alone makes Stiles wants to roll his eyes.

“Hmm, I think I like what I’m reading from you.”

He slips his hand into his back pocket and hands Stiles a black envelope. Stiles takes it, studying the weight of it in his hand, before looking back up to the Vampire still smiling at him.

“An invitation for your pack though I wouldn’t be disappointed if only you showed up.”

He extends his hand. Stiles has to accept it. He doesn’t know if it would be considered rude not to and the last thing he wants is to start some kind of war that could have been prevented if he acted as polite as his mother raised him to be. He kind of regrets it because Sucky the Vampire caresses his hand and runs his fingertips over his wrist. Stiles stoically does not make a gagging sound. Apparently, whatever face he makes is attractive because Sucky gives him an appreciative leer.

“I’m Ethan, by the way.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and thanks all that is holy that his order is being called. He salutes the Vampire with the card. 

“I’ll pass this along to my Alpha.”

He can feel Suc- _Ethan_ ’s his eyes on him, but he knows that the guy won’t try anything, not in the public, and not anything Stiles can’t handle on his own. The pack is still going to flip the fuck out about it though.

* * *

He is two steps into the living room when Isaac’s eyes flash gold. He’s up in Stiles’ space before he can even get a word in. Then he actually stumbles back like Stiles pushed him. Huh.

“Why do you smell like that?”

It’s said through fangs. Stiles rethinks his whole not calling ahead approach.

“Isaac, put a lid on it for now, okay? We’ve got problems.”

Allison pauses the game they are playing. (More like the game she and Erica are creaming Scott and Boyd at.) Lydia is already coming into the room. She probably felt something off with the pack. Her powers have been growing as of late. Something to do with the pack bond and Beacon Hills being on some pretty strong ley lines along with the Telluric currents. Stiles needs to ask Deaton if the ley lines affect him. His spark has been able to do some pretty freaking cool tricks with mountain ash that Allison can’t do. She looks pale and concerned.

“Stiles? Explain now, please." 

He blinks at Lydia and focuses back on Derek. He’s edging closer to Stiles slowly like if he moves too fast he’ll spook him. Stiles rolls his eyes. Scott is partially checking the house with his eyes and ears (He really needs to stop cocking his head to the side like a puppy. It gives him away nearly every time.) like the Vampires followed him here to the Sheriff's house. He’s not wolfed out at least. The rest of the pack takes their cues from Derek and Scott. If they are calm, the rest of the pack is calm. 

“So I might have gotten us invited to a party by a Vampire, but like Vampires live in Kisses, so I might have gotten us invited to party by a bunch of Vampires?”

Derek blinks at him before he drags a hand down his face.

“Only you, Stiles. Only you.”

He flips him off and hands him the envelope. Scott hovers close by rubbing up against Stiles arm. Stiles bats his best friend away. He’s fine. Or not. Derek pulls a fancy ass invitation from the envelope and growls as he reads it. Which is scary as fuck because his eyes bleed out red as he gets further down.

Derek’s got a fuckton better at control. He can pretty much go full Alpha, but there’s still times when he gets shaky and resorts back to his Beta shift. Stiles kind of wants to tell him that he’s the only one that thinks his control’s not good enough. There hasn’t been a single incident since Isaac almost shot him. Still, Stiles doesn’t fight him as Derek pulls Stiles down with him onto the couch. Derek wraps an around Stiles' shoulders effectively pulling Stiles into his side.

“And?" Lydia questions, "What the hell do they want?”

Derek hands her the invitation. Stiles doesn’t even complain about not being able to read it himself because Derek is tense beside him, and he is emanating some impressive hostility toward a piece of paper. Stiles knows it’s fucking bad.

“They are hosting a rave in the old ice packing plant. They wanted to invite us to talk about what is them essentially hosting feedings in our own territory.” 

Stiles stiffens besides Derek. The arm around him tightens. The rest of the pack are tense. Boyd actually lets out a low growl. Stiles has never had murderous tendencies. But right now? He kind of wants to stab something, something Ethan shaped.

“They want to go into some kind of fucking business with us?”

Derek nods. Lydia rereads the invitation quickly.

“I’ve heard of this coven before. They have deals with some packs in Europe.”

Stiles really wants to stab something now. Packs protect their territory and the people in them. They don’t fucking let them be used like cattle for a fucking profit. 

“I’m going to contact Chris.”

Allison nods, hands flexing on the controller as if she were gripping her bow. Erica’s eyes are gold and not fading. Stiles still hasn't moved to actually call Chris.

“Game plan?" asks Scott as he starts to subtly make sure the house is secure.

Lydia throws the card onto the coffee table with a disgusted look on her face.

“They won’t do anything to jeopardize the business deal.”

The rest of the room doesn’t look like they really believe that. Derek doesn’t either.

“We’ll go to the rave and tell them we aren’t interested. We make it perfectly clear that if they feed here, they die here.”

Lydia nods. Suddenly, the card is engulfed in flames. The ashes floats away into nothing. Everyone is staring at her.

“So, fire. That’s new."

Lydia rolls her eyes at Scott. Stiles just stares in awe.

“I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we are really fucking glad you’re on our side, Lydia.”

She gives him a small smile before digging around for the e-reader she left in her handbag. She starts scrolling through the bestiary she’s made Stiles copy and transfer there. She frowns at what she reads.

“I’m glad they ran into you. If the envoy was threatened in anyway, this Kiss would have had all rights to defend themselves.”

Stiles runs a hand down his face. He’s already piecing together a plan and running through what he has in the Gobstopper that can stop a Vampire and not be inconspicuous at a rave.

“Yeah, I figured it wasn’t really business. He was kind of looking at me in a distinctly personal manner. Like I _want you for dinner_ kind of personal.”

Derek’s eyes are bright red before Stiles finishes talking. Isaac has a hand covering his nose and mouth and is bouncing from foot to foot. Every couple of bounces, he takes a step back then he takes a step closer to Stiles.

“Dude, what?” Stiles barks as his anxiety beats out what is left from the adrenaline of the meeting.

Isaac moves his hand to talk, scrunches up his nose, and covers it back up again. Scott steps forward.

“You remember when we had to dissect those piglets in Bio last year?”

Stiles blinks at his best friend. 

“Yeah?”

Scott wrinkles his nose.

“It's like that but without the benefits of formaldehyde.”

Stiles shudders and leans more heavily into Derek. Great, he smells like death and dying things... again. He really wants a shower before he calls Chris.

“I really want a shower.”

Derek stops him from moving by curling his arm around him tighter.

“In a minute.”

Stiles stills and catches sight of red just peeking out behind hazel. He nods and settles back in. It has nothing to do with the fact that his skin had finally stopped crawling the second Derek touched him. He leans his head back on Derek’s arm. Derek wraps one hand around Stiles' wrist exactly where the Vampire caressed him. 

“I deserve a fucking mountain of chicken wings for this.”

He doesn’t get chicken wings, all the wolves are too unsettled to let anyone out of their sight so soon, but he does get homemade nachos. It’s almost worth getting bad touched by a Vampire, almost.

* * *

If Chris thinks the dog park is a weird place to have a meeting, he doesn’t show it. He actually tosses the ball Orion cautiously gives to him. (There’s a brown lab puppy following him around. Orion doesn’t seem to mind the pup getting under his feet and trying to help retrieve the ball. Stiles cannot help put to picture Derek and Scott in his head.) He keeps his eye on Orion as he lays it all out for Chris. He had recognized the name on the card as soon as Stiles said it. By the time Stiles is finished explaining, Chris is doing that whole pinched lip thing. Stiles knows it’s bad when a hunter gets nervous. 

“Decapitation is the only way to kill them.”

He nods. From what Stiles has read, sunlight doesn’t really affect them. Silver doesn’t do shit for any supernatural creature (except Oni, and he makes another mental note to talk to Chris about them because they sound scary as fuck). The thing with Vampires is that the bite is like an infection, like a magical disease. It speeds everything up on a molecular level. They have to feed consistently to keep up with their jacked up metabolisms. And everything is amped up. They have speed and strength, but only above human average hearing, sight, and smell. They don't have a heartbeat because their hearts are moving so fast. They don’t age because the heal constantly. It’s actually all really fascinating. This would be right up Stiles ally if there wasn’t a whole Kiss of them hanging around in their territory.

“They are one of the oldest Kisses in the world. You’re going to need back up." 

Stiles grins. It is almost ruined by Orion dropping a slobber covered tennis ball in his lap. He lobs the ball toward the open field in front of them.

“I’m so glad you brought that up.”

* * *

Stiles is fiddling with a medication bottle full of mountain ash when Lydia finally gets there with Allison in tow. They are dressed to kill. Usually, Stiles would be all about Lydia’s outfit, but it’s her necklace that draws his attention. It’s the triskele sitting on a delicate silver chain. There is a tiny red gem at the center.

“Nice bling." 

Her eyes rove over him as she completely ignores his statement.

“Oh good, you wore the outfit I picked out for you.”

Stiles scoffs. She didn’t pick it out. He picked it out. She just vetoed almost everything else he wanted to wear. Derek steps out of the shadows with Boyd by his side. Stiles takes a second to pray that he’s not trying to teach Boyd how to be a creeper.

“We’re not here for the rave, Lydia," Derek reminds her.

She rolls her eyes and loops her arm through Isaac’s. He’s dressed pretty similar to Stiles; simple shirt, tight jeans, basic boots. Stiles smirks at him as he shifts uncomfortably. At least Stiles got to wear his own clothes. It looks like Isaac's are brand new. Isaac flips off his amused grin. Scott rolls his eyes and lets Erica bully him into holding a mirror why she applies more bright red lipstick.

“An outfit can be a weapon, Derek,” Lydia reminds him.

Allison adjusts the Chinese rings daggers in her boots. She could probably use her legs as a distraction. They seriously go on for days in that skirt. He still wonders how Scott landed someone as amazing as Allison. Then he turns and sees that Scott keeps sneaking a peek at her every couple of seconds. Allison preens under his obvious appreciation. God, they are sickening and they deserve each other. She stands upright and smiles at Derek.

“We don’t want to stand out, and we want them to know that we aren’t concerned about them in our territory. We want to show them that we have control.”

Erica tucks her lipstick somewhere. And seriously, those jeans are skintight. Where did she put it? 

“That’s because we do,” she grins with bright red lips.

A small smirk slowly forms across Derek’s lips. Unfortunately, it disappears just a few seconds before Chris Argent rounds a corner.

“We’re in place.”

Stiles nods and turns back to the people around him.

“Plan A until I say otherwise.”

They nod and start moving. Boyd goes to stand beside Chris while everyone else gets behind Stiles. They need a wolf on the other side of the mountain ash line, just in case. (They also want someone with the hunters to make sure they don’t shoot the wrong people if shit goes south.) He pulls out the orange container and shakes it a bit. Chris’s eyes narrow.

“You didn’t even come prepared?”

Somebody snorts. (He thinks it might be Lydia. But he wouldn’t dare bring it up. He likes his balls where they are, thank you.) He crouches in front of his pack and offers Chris a smirk before he closes his eyes and concentrates. He tilts the bottle. There are quite a few surprised gasps. He opens his eyes to see a perfect line of ash in front of him. He knows it goes around the whole building. Now Chris is staring at him slightly wide eyed. It’s as much of a completely surprised reaction as he ever shows. Stiles winks at him.

“I was a boy scout.”

Scott ruins his badass one liner by laughing.

“Yeah, for like a week.”

Derek just rests a hand on his shoulder before nodding at Chris. Stiles salutes Boyd and turns on his heel. Erica slides up next to him. She’s practically bouncing on her toes. (This is the first party she’s ever been invited to, even if it’s on pretty sketch terms, and there’s going to be strobe lights. She couldn’t even watch most TV shows or movies in fear of her epilepsy being triggered.) Stiles can’t even fault her a little bit. She grins at him. It's wicked and sharp.

“Ready for this, Stiles?”

“Though I walk through shadow of the valley of death, I shall fear no evil for I am the baddest motherfucker in the valley." 

Isaac snorts. Stiles flips him off and follows Derek into the warehouse. The bouncers don’t even try to stop them.

It takes a second for Stiles' eyes to adjust to the dark and the noise, but he already knows the place is packed. These guys do well. They apparently have good PR. Stiles laughed when he came across the website. This Kiss was a step away from becoming a Blade spin off. There are also a lot of people here. Pretty much all of Beacon Hills High is here tonight. And pretty much all of the recently graduated Beacon Hills High. And oh, crap.

“Crap.”

Scott points out Jackson in the crowd of dancers. Lydia quickly averts her eyes. Allison takes her hand silently. Scott and Isaac move to block her from sight. Stiles takes a second to scan the crowd and his stomach drops.

“Double crap.”

Danny’s in the crowd too. Isaac reluctantly points out Matt, another bench warmer on the lacrosse team. Don’t get him wrong, Stiles wants to get everyone out of here, but he honestly could care less about Matt. Matt creeps him the fuck out.

“Change of plans. Erica, Isaac you get Jackson. He’ll know something is up if anybody else approaches him. Scott gets Danny, and Allison, I know you don’t believe me but dude’s got a crush on you. He’ll do whatever you tell him to.”

Derek and Allison both shoot him a judgmental eyebrow after spotting Matt. It’s even more ominous because they do it in sync. Stiles ignores them to talk-shout.

“Keep them distracted and away from anything that looks even remotely like David Boreanaz." 

Nobody laughs at his joke, but they are kind of in the middle of facing a threat so he'll let it slide. Some kind of unspoken girl talk passes between Lydia and Erica. Erica gives her a nod before she slinks off into the crowd with Isaac in tow and huh, girls got moves. Like _damn_. Allison grabs Scott and pulls him into the thriving mass of bodies. That leaves Derek, Stiles, and Lydia. Lydia has to lean up to speak into his ear.

“You're sure he’s going to find you?”

Stiles gives her an unimpressed look. He’s not an idiot. He’s not stupidly gorgeous like she is or like Derek. But he is cute, cuter since he grew his hair out (she said so). And he’s not naïve enough to know that his looks fit a certain… type. He feels confident. It helps to have Derek and the pack near by. He sticks out his arm for her to take.

“Oh, he’ll show. Let’s dance.”

He doesn’t really expect Derek to follow, but he does. He stays close to Stiles and Lydia as they move with the crowd in time to the heavy base. Stiles may take her hips in his hands for a song or two, but he also leans into Derek when the bodies crush up against him. Stiles catches Allison dancing with Danny and Scott. Matt isn’t around. Derek leans in with hips pressed back into Stiles’, hands on the small of Lydia’s back to keep her close, so they can hear what he’s saying. Stiles focuses on the mission and not how warm Derek is pressed up against him. He's still a teenage boy, alright?

“She convinced him that the Sheriff was going to be doing a bust. He had weed on him.”

Stiles snorts and does not waste the opportunity to dance with Derek pressed between them. Lydia smirks over her shoulder at him. She does love being the center of attention. Stiles presses up against Derek’s back and tangles one hand with Lydia’s. He speaks into Derek’s ear.

“I think he’s hiding something worse than weed. He always creeped me out.”

If Derek’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. He dances along with them, and he doesn’t even look like he’s breaking a sweat. The long sleeved henley Stiles is in already feels too hot. Derek nudges him a bit closer to Lydia. He can see her eyes flare green. If anyone else saw, they’d think it's a trick of the neon lights.

“There are only 5 of them I can sense. I can’t tell where they are.”

Derek nods and easily put her in the middle of them. She’s done the first part of the plan. Stiles quickly slips out his phone and sends off a group text. Looking around the crowd, he’s proud to see that nobody immediately pulls out their phones to check. Derek looks like he’s about to speak when he goes tense and shifts his body to shield Lydia and moves closer to Stiles, to put himself between them and the threat. Stiles takes the knife Lydia slips him (seriously, where do they even keep this stuff in club clothes!?). Stiles looks over the man. It's the same muscles stretching out a too small shirt, same tanned skin, same shit eating grin, but definitely not the same Vampire he met. Something is just off enough for Stiles to tell. Derek turns to let Stiles face him as the dancers around them subconsciously read his posture and give them space.

“You’re not Ethan.”

His smile is downright sinful as his eyes rake over Lydia’s body. Lydia doesn’t look impressed. Derek steps forward and let’s his eyes flash. The Vampire at least seems chastised about his behavior.

“I’m his twin brother, Aiden.”

He looks at Derek for a heartbeat longer, sizing him up, before he turns to Stiles. He lets his eyes rake over him too, probably judging his brother’s taste in Happy Meals.

“But if you are so eager to see him, let me lead the way.”

Stiles shares a look with Lydia before they follow behind Derek. Allison and Scott soundless slip in behind them as they move through the crowd easily.

* * *

The room Aiden takes them too is an empty office. Deucalion is leaning against the desk. He has his hands resting on the top of a walking cane. When Stiles has heard he was blind, he laughed. Then he read up on what happened to other Kisses that tried to take him on and promptly shut the hell up. The guy is one of the oldest documented Vampires. This Kiss is the second oldest in the world. Ethan sends him a wink where he’s leaning against the wall. There is a Vampire sitting on the corner of the desk, behind Deucalion. She’s leaning against a giant of a man. They must be Ennis and Kali. Aiden goes to lean on the wall opposite his brother like some kind of weird freak show mirror.

Looks like the Kiss is all here. That’s either stupid or justifiable cocky. Stiles stomach sinks because he knows that it’s the latter. Deucalion smiles almost kindly at them.

“It’s been a very long time since I set eyes on a werewolf, especially a Hale.”

Ennis laughs and seems happy enough to let Kali arrange herself against him as much as she wants. 

“A Hale Alpha was the last werewolf you ever saw. Right before she tore your eyes out."  

Stiles blinks. That was not in the bestiary. Lydia narrows her eyes as she speaks.

“Are you saying Talia did that?”

Scott and Stiles share a look. They are pretty sure they would have heard about _that_ between the two of their parents’ jobs. Aiden answers with eyes a little too focused on Lydia.

“His grandmother a few decades removed, actually.”

Deucalion gestures to his eyes covered by dark glasses as he speaks.

“She left quite an impression. One that I did not wish to make again.”

He lets that sink in before twirling his cane between his palms. He stops and tips it toward Derek with scary accuracy. Before Stiles’ brain can really start thinking about age and power growth and sense loss and compensation, Deucalion grins. It sets Stiles’ teeth on edge.

“But since the Hale Pack has a new Alpha, I’ve decided to try my luck.”

He waited for a few hundred years to try and get the Hale Pack on his side. Lydia catches Stiles' eye. He knows what she’s thinking. Their reputation, the Hale Pack’s reputation, is pretty much the only thing keeping the other big bads at bay. This is just the tip of the iceberg. They have to handle this right.

“I don’t think you’ll find much luck here. I’d try Vegas.”

And huh, Derek reverts to humor in tense situations. Good to know.

“This could be a mutually beneficial arrangement, Derek. Such a young pack could use the profits our raves produce. The streets of Beacon Hills will be free of the undesirables. Less work for your father, Stiles.”

Stiles hands move to the knife tucked into the waistband of his pants. Derek’s growl is the only thing that stops him from pulling it out. Scott shifts but doesn’t move. They have to play this right. Lydia’s eyes flare a bright green. The younger Vampires react immediately. The Twins claw at their chests'. Ennis has to brace himself against the table. Kali flashes her fangs and snarls. It sounds pretty close to a werewolf. If Deucalion is affected, he doesn't show it. When Ethan slumps to the floor, Derek says her name quietly.

"Lydia."

She's sighs but stops whatever she’s a doing. Stiles bets she was slowing down the oxygen in their blood and making their heartbeats slow. (Looks like she did watch AtLA and knew exactly what he was talking about when he brought up blood bending!). Deucalion doesn't sound widened when he speaks.

"It's been many generations since Hale pack had a witch."

Scott beams at the Vampires as he speaks.

"Earth, wind, water, but I wouldn't ask about fire. She hasn't gotten that part down yet."

To this, the Vampires all tense. Whatever bravado they had is shaken. Stiles tries not to smile. Aiden’s finally got himself standing upright.

“So that’s how you’re going to handle this Hale, let your witch do your dirty work?”

Derek lifts a shoulder. Deucalion laughs. Kali shifts to her knees on the desk. It looks like just another seating arrangement, but Stiles knows from training with Allison that she’s moving into a good position to fight if she has too. She smirks at them.

“I think the mountain ash trapping us all in and the two werewolves upstairs have something to do with it as well.”

Scott shakes his head. He even manages to look disappointed. (His disappointed face is good. Stiles is proud of him.)

“You forgot about the one outside with the Argents.”

Stiles clicks his tongue.

“You also forgot about my dad, who is waiting to give a green light on a drug bust. Raves have a tendency to draw out the- what did you call them? Oh, yeah the _undesirables_. They do like to bring in drugs and booze, don't they?”

He grins at the shocked faces of the twins and the anger emanating from Ennis and Kali.

“And why is it that I get the feeling when my dad arrests the organizers of the rave,” he gestures to the Vampires, “your prints are going to be getting some weird returns. Like out of state crimes and ones not even in this century.”

Ennis takes a step forward but stops at Derek’s warning growl. Stiles swears it shakes loose some of the broken tiles on the wall. Deucalion just smiles.

“And they say we’re the ones who are bloodthirsty. We would make exceptional business part-”

Derek cuts him off.

“We have no interest in any arrangement with you. I suggest that you watch what you say, or you will lose something else besides your vision tonight.”

Deucalion accepts the threat with an inclination of his head and a smile that’s almost proud. Kali doesn’t find it as amusing.

“Even insurance money runs out eventually, Hale.”

Kali flexes her hands. Stiles notices that not only are her nails are filed into points like claws, but her toes are too. She looks like an insane Goth wannabe Vampire. They’re painted black for fuck’s sake. Stiles feels disrespected on behalf of Vampires everywhere. Derek’s face is impassive as Stiles grins at her. It feels a little vicious on his face. Oh, well.

“And Team Edward was out 3 years ago, Marilyn.”

Derek levels him with a glare. But Stiles can totally see his lip twitch. He’s going to call Derek on it later. Stiles is about to suggest that she go paint her nails and take her Kiss with her when Deucalion laughs. It’s almost as creepy as he is.

“From what I hear Stiles, you look good enough to eat,” the Vampire drawls.

Even though Deucalion can’t see it, the other Vampires will. He tugs the collar of his shirt down to show the top of his shoulder. The Pixie bite healed but left a pretty badass scar. Turns out anti-scar cream doesn’t function well against supernatural wounds. Stiles wears it pretty proudly.

“Just a warning, when something tries to take a bite out of me, I bite back.”

Deucalion laughs softly.

“You are quite the bloodthirsty one, aren’t you Stiles? Oh, they might not see it, but I do. You could be so much more. The bite is a gift.”

Stiles wants to snort. Instead, he grins and hopes Deucalion can feel the snark in it.

“I’ve been marked.”

He pulls up the edge of his shirt to bear the rather gnarly scar low on his hip.

“I’ve been maimed.”

He lifts his hand so the red gem in the center of his ring catches and glints in the dim light. It matches the color of Derek’s eyes. Stiles’ grin feels sharp as it spreads across his lips.

“I’ve been claimed. So thanks, but no thanks.”

Deucalion is still for a moment before he lets a slow smile spread across his face.

“I believe that for once the rumors are true.”

Stiles wants to ask about all these rumors about him are, but he bites his lip. It’s not a good time to ask. The blind man looks straight at Derek.

“Alpha Hale, you have my word that we have not feed and will not feed while in your territory.”

Derek darts his eyes to Lydia, and she nods. She’s the only one that can tell that he’s telling the truth. The Vampires' hearts beat too fast for the werewolves to detect a lie. Derek gives him a sharp nod. Stiles wonders if Deucalion has sonar like a bat or something because he tilts his head in difference to Derek.

“We will be out of your territory tomorrow.”

Derek grins and shows off his sharp teeth.

“No, you’ll be out of my territory before sunrise."

Lydia’s smiles at them. It’s too sharp to be polite. Her voice is too sweet to be genuine.

“Or we’ll see just how immortal you are.”

Stiles winks at them before crouching and breaking the mountain ash ring with a displacement of air from his hands. He out right grins as the Vampires react to seeing him physically manipulating the border without even touching it, while being _inside_ it. Let them have another rumor to spread. Lydia blacks out the room, and they leave on near silent feet. Who said dramatic exits were just for bad guys?

* * *

Once they are outside and far enough away from the rave, Scott smacks at Stiles' shoulder. _Ow_.

“Dude, you got that scar when you fell out of a tree in 5th grade.”

Stiles makes an outraged noise.

“I did not fall out of a tree! I made a decision to decrease my altitude, rapidly.”

Derek snorts. Stiles glares. Allison sighs, and Boyd slips in besides Stiles. (He does it just to see Stiles flinch, the asshole.) Boyd looks to Derek. 

“Chris says the hunters will keep an eye on things until they leave.”

He leaves it at that. It would be a good show of faith if the pack let’s them handle the rest. Derek frowns, takes one look at his pack (exhausted, stressed, and rapidly approaching an adrenaline crash), and gives him a sharp nod. Stiles texts an affirmative then looks up at his pack.

“So, Hank’s?”

They all groan in appreciation. Well, at least he wasn't the only one to get uncomfortably hungry when they mentioned feeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. Enjoy this to make up for that HORRIBLE, SKIN CRAWLING, BAD-WRONG Kate/Derek scene in this week's episode.


	22. Family Revisited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How much would you believe me if I say that we’re just rehearsing for a play?”
> 
> Melissa's eyes narrow at Stiles, and he takes a step back toward Derek. Let it go on record that Mrs. McCall is scary as all hell when she pissed. Stiles is not above hiding behind his Alpha. Nope, not at all.

If Stiles can say anything about Melissa McCall, it is that she is the toughest woman he has ever met excluding his mom. So it really doesn’t surprise him that her only reaction to finding out that her son, the kid living in her guest bedroom, and the man she’s renting her garage apartment to is a werewolf is her slapping a hand over her mouth with wide, shell shocked eyes. She stands there for all of a minute staring at them before she slowly lets her hand fall.

“How much would you believe me if I say that we’re just rehearsing for a play?” Stiles jokes.

Her eyes narrow at Stiles, and he takes a step back toward Derek. Let it go on record that Melissa McCall is scary as all hell when she is pissed. Stiles is not above hiding behind his Alpha. Nope, not at all. She points to Scott, then Derek, then Isaac who is still bleeding, and then to Stiles.

“Sit.”

They hesitate. She points to the kitchen table with a firm finger.

“ _Now_.”

They all scramble to a seat. Stiles grins at Derek, but theAalpha ignores him instead to focus on Melissa who, after calmly cleaning Isaac’s wound, calmly watching it heal in front of her eyes, and calmly pacing back and forth in the kitchen for 7 minutes afterward, stops in front of her son.

“Let me see it again.”

Scott looks ashamed and guilty and a little bit afraid. Derek nods his head and rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. Scott shifts, and they can all hear Melissa’s breath hitch as she watches her son transform. She leans over the table and touches the pronounced forehead, fingers brushing against the overgrown sideburns, and stares into his golden eyes refracting brightly under the kitchen lights. She sags against the table and turns to Stiles.

“Your dad knows.”

He nods and finds his voice past the guilt burning in the back of his throat.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nods and licks her lips.

“He on his way?”

Stiles lifts his phone from his pocket where he was already texting his father. Derek looks at him with something short of awe. He shrugs his shoulders. It was a skill he knew would come in handy. Stiles knew she’d want to talk to his father. He’s already texted the rest of the pack to have them on standby.

“A few minutes out.”

She nods and paces some more. Stiles knew it was a bad idea to try to ride out the full moon separately. He told Derek as much, but he insisted that they try. The Alpha made a good point though. They were stronger. All of the wolves could hold their transformation, they found anchors, and they knew what to do if they got in over their furry little heads. Nobody knew Isaac would react like that when Stiles nicked himself with a knife while making a sandwich.

The full moon heightens the whole pack’s senses. They all knew that. It’s just that nobody had expected Isaac to react so viscerally. He had dropped everything to get to Stiles. He had yanked the bread knife from him, not caring that the blade was biting into the flesh of his palm. Melissa had walked in to see what the commotion was about and ended up getting an eyeful of Isaac wolfed out, Stiles trying to talk Isaac down and not get blood on his sandwich, Derek red eyed, and Scott trying to pry out a knife sunk four inches deep into the drywall.

Somehow, Stiles thinks offering to fix the cut in the wall isn’t going to help, so he doesn't say anything else.

The Sheriff is just through the door, eyes already scanning, assessing, and calculating when Melissa stops right in front of him. She slaps him across the jaw, hard. The whole room flinches. Nobody had expected that, except, from the way the Sheriff is looking at her, John.

“You should have told me. They’re my boys, too. In every way that counts, they are my boys.”

The Sheriff nods and pulls her into a hug. Her shoulders start shaking immediately. Scott tries to hunch into himself, but Derek doesn’t let him. He wraps an arm around his shoulders speaking so quietly that Stiles doesn’t even think Isaac can hear what he’s saying. Eventually, Melissa pulls away with watery eyes that she rubs at before sitting down in an empty chair. John rubs at the red handprint on his face.

“Well, where do we start?”

Stiles can feel the tension in the room like needles against his skin, so he does what he does best.

“I would like to start off by saying that none of this was my fault.”

Derek, John, and Melissa all snort in unison. Just like that, some of the tension is gone. They tell her everything. She gives Stiles a pretty stern angry mom face multiple times, but she directs it at Scott and Derek just as much. Lydia comes in somewhere after they tell her about Peter. (Melissa had shivered, Derek had growled, and John looked ready to shoot somebody.) Lydia stares Isaac down until he gets the hint and gives up her chair. It makes Melissa laugh.

When Erica walks in with Boyd in tow an hour later, Melissa gives her a big hug and starts asking about her epilepsy, how she feels, and tells her how she’s glad that Erica isn’t suffering anymore. Stiles notices how his father keeps hold of her hand or shoulder through it all. He shares a look with Scott. Looks like tonight's the night of big reveals. Eventually, the pull of the moon starts to rear its head in the form of ravenous hunger. It’s not just the wolves either. Stiles’ stomach starts grumbling loudly. Melissa freezes and looks at him. He smiles sheepishly.

“I’m not a werewolf, but I’ve been told,” he jerks his head toward Derek with a smirk, “that I eat like one.”

Melissa bursts out laughing and has to grab onto his father to keep sitting up right. The Sheriff just shakes his head and hands over his wallet to Erica with a grin. An hour later has the McCall’s living room filled with empty pizza boxes, a sacked out Sheriff in the easy chair, DVD cases everywhere, and the local werewolf pack half unconscious on various pieces of furniture. Stiles is keeping tabs on everyone from his spot on the couch. It’s still the full moon after all. He catches movement out of the corner of his eyes. He turns enough to see Derek helping Melissa clean up in the kitchen. Somebody has managed to put a nail up and put a picture over the cut in the wall.

“Derek? I wasn’t just talking about Scott and Stiles and Isaac.”

Stiles can see Derek tense up. Scott goes stiff next to him. The others were too amped up by the pull of the moon and gave into the exhaustion, but Scott is more used to it. He isn’t overwhelmed anymore. He’s been keeping tabs too.

“Melissa, you don’t have to-“

She steps up and places a hand on his cheek. They both notice how he kind of fails to not lean into the warm touch.

“Before I knew about the whole werewolf thing, I considered you my boy. Being what you are doesn’t change that. If anything, it makes me want to take care of you more. Pack is family right? If Scott’s your brother then you can be my son. I know that we can’t replace your family. I would never want to do that to them, to their memory. But you’re my family now. No arguments.”

Derek nods. He accepts the hug she pulls him into. He doesn’t even shrug Scott off when he joins in. And if Stiles notices how watery his Alpha’s eyes are when he pulls away, Stiles doesn’t mention it. (He likes his throat where it is, thank you very much.)


	23. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a good, quiet couple of months.
> 
> “And it sucks.”
> 
> Scott snorts.
> 
> “Can we just enjoy it while it lasts?”
> 
> Stiles tries to kick the Xbox controller out of his best friends’ hand with his foot.
> 
> “No. I cannot enjoy it because I know it won’t last. It’s how I am, dude.”
> 
> “Yeah, yeah. It doesn’t mean I’m never going to stop trying to make you see the positive side of life.”
> 
> Stiles grins and leans his head on Scott’s shoulder with a wide grin.
> 
> “Aw, I love you too, Scotty.”
> 
> Erica actually kicks him in the back of the head from her criss-cross applesauce position on his bed. Stupid werewolf reflexes!
> 
> “Stop being sappy and watch me kick your asses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a filler chapter. Sorry!

Ever since Melissa found out about all the things that go bump in the night, it’s been relatively quiet in Beacon Hills. No dismemberments. No ghouls and guts. No almost being eaten for dinner. It’s been… freaking Stiles out quite frankly. And while Derek wouldn’t admit it, he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop too.

Beacon Hills is a supernatural magnet. It’s been vetted by shamans, a really pleasant traiteur (Stiles much preferred her clothed and feeding him scones in her tea shop in town rather than bathing naked in the river. Derek couldn’t find it in him to be mean or growly to an 80 year old grandma of three. Especially when she called him chère and gave him all the tea and sweets he wanted as gifts of respect to the Alpha, the sucker.), and several other supernatural beings that had migrated to Beacon Hills over the past three months.

The most adrenaline filled moment they’ve had is winning the Lacrosse District Championship. Everyone was there. Even Derek, who was decked out in Cyclone red. He said he was forced into it by Erica and Lydia, but Stiles caught him more than once yelling just as loud as his dad. It’s been a good, quiet couple of months.

“And it sucks.”

Scott snorts.

“Can we just enjoy it while it lasts?”

Stiles tries to kick the Xbox controller out of his best friends’ hand with his foot.

“No. I cannot enjoy it because I know it won’t last. It’s how I am, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah. It doesn’t mean I’m never going to stop trying to make you see the positive side of life.”

Stiles grins and leans his head on Scott’s shoulder with a wide grin.

“Aw, I love you too, Scotty.”

Erica actually kicks him in the back of the head from her criss-cross applesauce position on his bed. Stupid werewolf reflexes!

“Stop being sappy and watch me kick your asses.”

* * *

“How are the guys reacting?”

“To?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and stabs at his food. His father is having an early lunch with him before he starts the night shift. So far he has not entertained by Stiles’ idea that Mrs. Fern down the street is actually a Goblin of some kind because she always side eyes Orion when they are going for a walk. Everybody likes Orion.

“To an exonerated Derek Hale being back in town? Hanging out with the Sheriff and helping out with a few cases? Being BFF’s with his teenage son and his friends?”  
  
He dad shrugs over his quinoa salad. The Sheriff is slowly starting to come around to eating healthy once Stiles started to find tastier alternatives to healthy food. (Even he couldn’t choke down that soy burger from last week. There might have been some malicious smirking from his father.)

“I told them that you and your friends are rehabilitating him.”

Stiles snorts loudly. He maybe gets some of his cherry coke splattered over his food, but hey, it’s all going to the same place anyway.  
  
“And they believe that?”  
  
“Not for one second, but they trust my judgment. And Hale, he's had a hard life.”

Stiles wants to correct him, Derek’s has had more than just a hard life, but the Sheriff waves a hand between them to stop him from talking.  
  
“Besides, they're convinced that if he hasn't snapped and killed you yet then he's definitely not a murderer.”  
  
Stiles scoffs, disgusted.  
  
“Well guess which station won’t be getting Christmas cookies this year!”  
  
Now it's his dad's turn to have his mouth drop open in horror. Stiles’ cookies are the shit, and Christmas is the only time he lets his dad cheat on sweets. His cookies, from his mother’s recipe passed down from generation to generation, are one of the reasons why the whole department didn’t mind having him underfoot and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. And if it wasn’t… well, Stiles isn’t above bribing.  
  
When he tells Derek later that night as they hang out in his apartment, the Alpha let’s out a gut-busting laugh. It's shocking. Scott actually dumps popcorn all over Boyd’s lap. Isaac is frozen with a handful halfway to his mouth. Allison is busy snapping pictures (her process and response time is less than three seconds, oh a hunter’s life). Stiles can only watch as Derek grabs at his chest like it'll hold the sounds in. It's loud but warm, and Derek's actually smiling. Not a smirk, but a full blown mega watt smile. Jesus, it’s kind of distracting and kind of beautiful. Terrifyingly beautiful. That's actually a good description for Derek as a whole.  
  
By the time Derek’s laughter turns to lingering huffs, he has tears in his eyes and is still smiling softly at them all. Scott smiles back almost giddy with it, Allison beams at all of them, and Stiles frowns trying to hold onto his indignation and failing. He can feel his mouth fighting off a smile.  
  
“Sorry, it's just, it’s _true_.”  
  
Stiles turns to the TV ignoring everyone in the room.  
  
“Great, I'm better than a psych eval for psychos.”  
  
That sets Derek off again. Erica giggle snorts which sets off Scott with a high pitched cackle.

“Dude, it’s so true!”

Stiles kind of misses when Scott hated Derek. He won more arguments. He tries to stand, but Derek has a warm arm around his neck, and Allison has a leg thrown over his lap, fingers digging into his sides. He yelps.

“Bad Touch, Allison! BAD TOUCH! Scott, call her off!”

Except Scott doesn’t. He joins her. Now Derek is shaking he’s laughing so hard. Stiles elbows him and tries to dislodge Scott’s fingers where they are pressed into the half-inch of space right below his armpit that he knows is Stiles’ only ticklish spot. Apparently, secrets shared after a Halloween sugar gorge fest are fair game.

“Traitor!”

Scott laughs, but stops tickling him when Stiles yanks on a ear and throws him off balance. It sends Scott and Allison careening to the floor. Scott catches Derek’s leg and jerks the Alpha to the floor with him. Stiles, who he stills has in a secure grip, follows. They land in a heap, the coffee table sliding towards the cabinets. But Erica, who had been sitting on the table with Lydia, misjudges the force of the movement, and they both end up sprawled across Derek’s legs.

Lydia grabs Isaac’s elbow to try and stop her fall, but ends up pulling him with her and accidentally tripping Boyd into the mess of tangled limbs on the floor. Boyd doesn’t seem to mind as much as Isaac because he gets a face full of Erica’s cleavage. She just smiles and pulls him closer. Isaac complains that he has somebody’s foot jammed into his armpit, but he isn’t doing anything to remove it, not with Lydia draped across him.

They all fall silent and blink at each other in the sudden quiet. It’s Stiles that starts laughing again, head on Derek’s stomach, feet somewhere thrown over Scott’s back. Every starts to laugh with him. When they settle down again, Stiles turns his smirking face to Derek.

“Told you we needed more space.”

Derek frowns at him plucking a pillow off the floor and shoving it at his face. Stiles bats it away only to get a face full of blonde curls.

“Yeah, when will the house be done anyway? I want to pick out colors for my room."

Derek scowls at her, but Stiles can tell he doesn’t mean it. He’s still got a smile on his face. It’s small, but it’s still there. Stiles is happy to grab a handful of popcorn still left in the bottom of the discarded bowl near Derek’s head as the rest of the pack start voicing their own concerns about the state of the Hale House. Lydia has an entire binder filled with paint swatches and decor ideas. Yeah, this is definitely an Alpha problem.


	24. Injury

The dog park is never really busy on Wednesday afternoons. It’s not that Orion isn’t good with people. He’s great with people. He’s been a part of the K-9 unit for years and has been the Sheriff’s Department’s ambassador the elementary and middle schools when they did their annual _Just Say No_ campaign. He was once voted as the most popular member of the Sheriff’s Department just beating out his dad by a handful of votes.

Stiles chose the time and location for very specific reasons. The first one is that Orion was, and for the most part still is, a well-trained police dog. Stiles understands that Orion isn’t a normal pet. He is also a retired veteran of the police force. the only reason Stiles was able to adopt him was that he had been around the station and Orion so much that the dog had bonded with him like he would another handler. Orion has never had a slip up, and Stiles is hell bent on keeping it that way. The calm, barely filled dog park is a precaution. It also helps to not have puppies or little kids trying to crawl all over Orion with his bad hip.

That’s why Stiles had picked Wednesday afternoons at the dog park for his little slot of Alpha Time. Though he still snorts when he thinks about how Derek phrased it in a fit of annoyance and quickly diminishing patience after the newer members of the pack moaned and groaned about the mandatory quality time. And so what if he starts humming MC Hammer every time Derek enters the dog park? Derek’s lucky Stiles isn’t making a poorly concealed dog joke. Though the thought probably crossed Derek’s mind.

Stiles is early today because Orion was eager to get out of the house. From the way Orion is sitting tense in the passenger seat, Stiles knows he can’t wait for Derek to get there. He scratches at Orion’s broad head.

“Come on.”

When the get inside the actual park, Orion sits and waits for Stiles to unhook his leash from his harness. He stays seated and waits patiently for Stiles to give him the command.

“Okay, Orion. Go.”

The German Shepherd trots off to sniff around and explore. Stiles wraps the short leash around his wrist and walks around the park while keeping an eye Orion. He’s well trained and never ventures too far, but Stiles knows how easily accidents happen. As usual, there aren’t many people at the park today. There are a few regulars with their pets and a new guy with no dog in sight chatting up one of the soccer moms that gets him curious.

Stiles is about to walk over and introduce himself when he catches sight of a young looking Pit Bull out of the corner of his eye. The dog is so pressed up against the edge of the park fencing that Stiles would have walked right by him. Stiles almost wishes he had.

The dog’s whole body is stiff, his tail is straight out, and his mouth is closed. His eyes are darting between Stiles and the space on either side of him. He’s scared and probably overwhelmed, and his owner is an ass for just leaving him to fend for himself. Stiles tries to lean forward, just to see the name on the collar, and is rewarded with a growl. Stiles freezes.

“Easy,” he says calmly. 

He tries to take a step back slowly so he can call his dad and animal control. The dog watches him but doesn’t move or growl again.

“Easy, boy.”

Somebody shouts something near them and the dog, startled, lunges. Except his teeth, stark white and sharp, never reach Stiles. They sink into Orion’s fur. The German Shepherd must have heard Stiles or something. He had bowled over the Pit Bull and forced him away from Stiles. Stiles scrambles to his feet to do something, to do anything to stop the sharp whines and growls, but Derek is there, roaring them into stillness.

Stiles doesn’t care who saw or heard. All he knows is that Orion is trying to get up, and he’s bleeding. Stiles gently forces him back down to access the damage knowing Derek won’t let them get hurt.

“Down, Orion.”

He whimpers but complies. He’s breathing easy, but the fur around his next is matted with blood. Stiles looks up to assess the other dog. He isn’t hurt at all and is whimpering right along with his owner under Derek's watchful glare. They both already look scared shitless, and Stiles doesn’t give a damn if Derek went Alpha on them and they saw because the blood isn’t stopping.

“Shit. Derek, he’s bleeding bad.”

Derek shrugs out of his coat, not leather but cotton, and presses it into Stiles hands.

“Put pressure on it. I’m calling your dad and Deaton.”

Stiles nods and does what he’s told. He strokes Orion’s head as he whimpers.

“You’re alright, Orion. You did good. Just rest.”

He knows he shouldn’t move anything, not if he wants to preserve the scene and as much evidence as he can so he can file a report on the dog’s owner and sue his ass, but he can’t get where he needs to apply pressure to.

“Sorry about this, boy.”

He reaches to Orion’s chest to undo the harness then he reaches for the clip under his front legs. Orion whines, high and in pain. Stiles flips the harness out of the way. It’s torn and ragged and bloody. He reminds himself to hug the K9 handler at the station the next time he sees him. If Orion wasn’t so used to a harness, Stiles would have had him on a plain collar. It wouldn’t have done anything to stop the worst of the damage like the harness had. He presses Derek’s jacket into the open and bleeding wound low on his neck and shoulder.

He hadn’t even realized how shallow his breathing had gotten until Derek has a hand gripped firmly on the back of his neck.

“Stiles, breathe.”

It’s not the Alpha voice, but it’s damn near to it that Stiles does as he’s told. He’s still working on regulating his breathing that he doesn’t notice Deaton or his father arriving until Deaton asks him to step back.

“Dad.”

Then the Sheriff is hugging him, and he might be shaking just a bit, but nobody says anything. He wipes at his eyes angrily as he pulls away from his dad. He motions to where Deaton and Derek are loading Orion into Deaton’s mobile animal care unit. Derek jogs back to them.

“Deaton has him stabilized. At most, he’ll need surgery. At least, he’ll need stitches.”

The Sheriff nods, gripping his son’s shoulder.

“We'll do whatever needs to be done, kid.”

Stiles nods and picks up Orion’s discarded leash.

“Take Stiles to the clinic for me. I have a deputy headed there already to start gathering evidence. I’ll be there when I’m finished here.”

His eyes grow hard as they linger on the owner of the now muzzled Pit Bull. Stiles doesn’t wish him any sympathy.

* * *

They are barely in the clinic when Scott tackles Stiles in a hug.

“Dude, I’m glad you’re okay. Orion’s gonna be fine too.”

He nods and shoves Scott toward the back rooms.

“How about you go make sure of it?”

He nods, purposely brushing shoulders with Derek as he passes. Stiles turns to face Derek if only to keep his mind off of what’s happening a few feet away.

“How’d you find me so fast?”

Derek steps forward and pulls the round container of wet wipes off of the reception desk. He offers one to Stiles. The blood on his hands is dried and rusty looking. Stiles fights to keep his breathing even.

“I heard you. You heart was racing.”

Stiles nods and tries his hardest not to look at how dirty the wipe is as he tosses it in the garbage. He fails. A tremor runs through his hands. Derek quietly steps closer and takes the wipe from him. Stiles voice doesn’t shake, but only barely.

“If Orion didn’t get there, if you didn’t…I’ve faced down scarier shit, but I lost my cool over a scared dog? How pathetic is that?”

Derek’s hands are gentle as he cleans the blood from Stiles' hands, but his voice is firm as he speaks.

“It’s normal to be afraid of things that are actually terrifying, you know.”

He snorts. Derek doesn’t smirk as he throws away the ruined wipe. He grabs the back of Stiles' neck again like he did in the park and let’s his hand rest there.

“He’s gonna be okay, Stiles.”

Stiles isn’t a wolf, but that doesn’t mean the touch doesn’t help. It helps ground him just in a different way than it does the actual werewolves.

“Yeah, I-”

The bell over the door rings as it opens. Derek’s eyes are Alpha red by the time it stops. The deputy that just walked in immediately puts up his hands, case file in one and camera in the other, and offers the room a tight smile.

“I guess now is a great time to introduce myself?”

Stiles has his paintball gun out and trained on the deputy.

“I’d make it snappy,” he gestures to Derek who has his claws out, “or he will.”

Before anyone can say anything, Sheriff Stilinski walks in only to stop short at the scene in front of him.

“Aw hell, Stiles. Put that thing away,” then he turns to Derek and frowns, “Don’t frighten off my new Deputy. You didn’t want the position, and I had to fill it.”

Derek loses the eyes, but the claws remain. He also shifts his stance, so he can easily shield the Sheriff if he needs to. It makes Stiles feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He’d feel even better if somebody would explain what the hell is going on. He thinks he’s had enough surprises for one day.

“I don’t have a problem with you doing your job, Sheriff. I have a problem with you hiring someone that isn’t entirely human.”

Stiles tenses and takes a step closer to his father, and if it puts him right beside Derek and closer to the front desk lined with mountain ash, then that’s just coincidence. The Sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“I am quite aware of Deputy Parrish’s, uh, heritage.”

Stiles is the only one to turn to stare incredulously at his father, but Derek echoes his mental response out loud.

“What.”

The Sheriff steps forward to wrap his hand around the paintball gun. Stiles doesn’t fight him as he gently lowers it to the ground. He watches as his dad rests a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“His commanding officer and I were in the same unit when I was in the army. He asked for my help for one of his boys.”

Derek narrows his eyes. They go a little red around the edges. Parrish wisely steps back and tilts his head enough to the side that it is considered submissive.

“I was honorably discharged.”

The Sheriff tightens his hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know what he was until we met for the interview, but I wouldn’t have hired him if I didn’t trust him, Derek.”

And that, that goes a long way. Derek trusts the Sheriff’s opinion. If Parrish has his dad’s support, then he’s as good as he’s going to get moving into a werewolf’s territory without permission. Derek studies him for a long moment before he nods at the Sheriff. He lets out a long breath before patting Derek’s shoulder, grabbing the file and camera from Parrish, and moving toward the operating room behind the front desk.

“I’m going to go get started with this. You all make nice.”

Stiles grins widely at Parrish. He looks wary.

“No promises.”

The Sheriff and Derek both snort. Stiles glares at them for ruining his fun before leaning back on the reception desk.

“So why did you get discharged?”

Parrish rubs at his neck.

“I might have blown myself up, more than once.”

Stiles gawks.

“More than once?”

“I worked on the bomb disposal unit. After the sixth time it was kind of hard to write it off as dumb luck and good armor.”

Derek blinks.

“You’re not lying.”

Parrish perks up.

“Cool, I’ve heard werewolves could detect lies.”

Stiles steps forward, but Derek hands catches in the back of his shirt when he crosses the invisible line that Derek has determined is too close to the new Deputy. He rolls his eyes but halts his movements. Parrish looks amused.

“And what exactly are you?”

Stiles nods along to Derek’s questioning.

“Jordan Parrish, and also a Phoenix.”

Stiles stares, turns to blink at Derek, and stares some more.

“Uh, didn’t think you guys were still alive, or, you know, real.”

Parrish motions to Derek with a sly grin.

“I could say the same for werewolves. I didn’t even know I was in an Alpha’s territory until I was ordering an Americano at _Morning Call_. Ms. Josephine fussed at me for a bit and told me to go introduce myself and apologize for not doing it earlier. I was actually going to do it today, but then…”

He turns to Stiles and offers him a sincere smile.

“I am really sorry about your dog, Stiles. Everyone at the station was pretty upset when we got the call.”

Stiles nods.

“Thanks, he’s kind of a hero around here.”

Derek crosses his arms over his chest and side eyes Stiles. Stiles rolls his eyes. He can make nice with the new deputy if he wants to. Jordan Parrish could be one more person he can use as a mole in the department to make sure he dad eats right… and you know, to keep the town safe.

Stiles blinks and huh. He pats himself down mentally. No feeling of unease or dread. He doesn’t feel like digging into Jordan Parrish’s past, no more so than say the mailman. There is no little voice in the back of his mind nagging at him that something just isn’t right with him like with Matt (and there is something up with Matt whether Derek agrees with him or not, damn it). He turns to Derek, who had been watching him silently, and shrugs. He’s fine with it until he can pull Parrish’s files from his dad’s office.

“You get the rundown from the Sheriff?”

Parrish blinks, but nods.

“I’m aware of what will happen to me if I harm anyone in your territory.”

Derek nods and takes a step back. His shoulders relax.

“Then welcome to Beacon Hills, Deputy.”

The words seem to cut the tension in the room. Parrish shoulders fall a bit. He looks more relaxed. He motions toward the examinations rooms in the back where the Sheriff had disappeared.

“If you excuse me, I was actually supposed to be the one collecting evidence.”

Derek nods, and Stiles moves to follow Parrish into the exam room. A hand on his shoulder stops him. Derek waits until he can’t see Parrish anymore. He can’t really recall if Phoenixes have enhanced hearing, but playing it safe is always a good idea in this town.

“Dig up what you can on him. Scott will probably already know he isn’t human by now, but we’ll wait until the pack meeting tomorrow to tell the others once we know more about him.”

Stiles nods, “already on it.”

Derek hesitates, but pulls Stiles into a hug. Stiles is man enough to admit that he sinks into it. It’s been an emotional day, and he can let his Alpha hug him if he wants to. Derek lets Stiles end the hug and doesn't say anything if his eyes are watery when he pulls away.

“Allison is with the others at my apartment. I’ll go let them know everything is handled. Call me when you get home.”

He nods and heads to the back where Orion is. He half-heartedly badgers Parrish with questions about himself while he takes down careful notes in the police file for Stiles’ case for a few minutes. He’s more worried about the 17 stitches in Orion’s neck and shoulder though. He massages his bad hip like Deaton showed him if only to help relieve some of his pain. He’s a little more than out of it because of the sedative they gave him. Scott is making sure the sutures are covered.

“What about the Pit Bull that attacked him?”

The Sheriff gently strokes Orion’s head. Stiles is well aware that his dad is stalling. Deaton’s the one that answers him as he’s finished given Parrish his report.

“He is under quarantine until we can determine that he does not need to be euthanized.”

Stiles tenses. Scott clenches his jaw.

“Are you kidding me?" Scott asks angrily. Stiles agrees. He knows the laws, but some of them are so backwards.

"Euthanized? The only thing that’s wrong with him is that he has a shitty owner who doesn’t know how to treat an animal, let alone train one.”

Deaton nods. The Sheriff sighs.

“I know kiddo, but that doesn’t erase the fact that he attacked Orion.”

Stiles throws his hands up. Parrish clears his throat and snaps the file shut. He picks up the camera.

“I’ve got everything we need here. How about I go bring everything back to the station and finish writing it up? You head home with your son, Sheriff.”

They really can’t argue with that logic. Stiles takes the bag of medication and instructions Scott hands him as the Sheriff heads to the front with his new Deputy and the veterinarian to settle the bill. Scott follows Parrish’s retreating back with his eyes.

“I don’t think he’s human,” he whispers.

Stiles sighs.

“He isn’t. He introduced himself to Derek and me. He’s a phoenix.”

Scott’s eye widen. Stiles shakes his head.

“Yeah, I know. But dad is vouching for him, and I plan on getting very acquainted with his background check, references, and credit report. Plus, I don’t have that nagging feeling that he’s bad news.”

Scott snorts, but give him a smile.

“Well, if he didn’t trigger the Stiles Sense...”

Stiles punches him in the arm.

“Don’t hate on me and my ability to sense evil. It’s saved our asses more than once.”

Scott rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, he gently lifts Orion, who tries his best to wag his tail, into his arms.

“Just get the doors, Stiles.”


	25. Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles pulls up to school just as the last dismissal bell rings. He only rolls down the window when he spots Jackson. He ducks his head so Jackson can see that it’s him. 
> 
> “Get in loser. We’re going shopping.”
> 
> The bitchface he receives from Jackson is pretty good. Stiles’ is better.
> 
> “Dude, don’t make me make a scene. You know I will.”

 “I don't practice Santeria. I ain't got no crystal ball. Well, I had a million dollars but I, I'd spend it all.” 

Stiles’ fingers tap out the beat of the song on the radio against his steering wheel. He’s on his way home from a grocery run and is feeling pretty good because he’s found a few recipes his dad actually likes now that they figured out that kale is the Devil’s vegetable. The Sheriff had actually requested that Stiles try to make “that Quinoa thing” that Derek made him try at lunch last week.

Stiles is planning dinner in his head and belting out the Sublime song on the radio at the second to last four way stop on his way home. The moment is kind of ruined when Jackson pulls up across from him. Technically, Stiles has the right of way. He did stop first, but he’s feeling kind of generous. No one is behind him, and Jackson has been less of a douchebag lately. It might have something to do with Lydia being back, but Jackson hasn’t even tried to talk to her yet. And that is not Stiles’ place to mention (because when he did mention it to her, Lydia froze Stiles’ ink pen solid). Stiles waves for him to go first. Jackson flips him off, but the Porsche starts to move forward.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees an old Chevy pickup barreling toward them. Stiles knows in an instant that the truck won’t stop. And it’s going to hit Jackson directly in the driver’s side. The truck is going to hit him broadside, and he’s going way too fast. Stiles doesn’t even think. He just slams down on Roscoe’s accelerator.

It happens so fast that Stiles doesn’t really know what happened. For a split second, Stiles even thinks that his Jeep on fire because his arm is on fire. He tries to move it, but knows it’s broken or fractured from when it hit the steering wheel. His head it already throbbing. Whiplash, he thinks. Maybe a concussion from the lack of headrests. He barely had time to brace himself before he hit the gas. The sound of an engine trying to turn over pulls his attention away from his injuries.

He slides out of his seat and barely catches himself when the world spins a little as his feet hit the pavement. He grabs onto the door to get his balance and watches as the driver of the Chevy gets the engine to start and drives away. The truck isn’t exactly in the best shape, something is making a horrible keening sound and something is dragging along the ground, but all Stiles can do is blink after the taillights before moving over to the Porsche.

When Stiles clipped the tail end of the truck, he made it pull to the left, and it put most of the impact on the engine block. The driver side door is still crumbled in, and Jackson isn’t moving. Stiles tries not to think about what the car would have looked like if he hadn’t accelerated. He feels sick to his stomach anyway. He takes a breath, ignores the sharp, hot pain racing up his left arm, and moves his feet to the pounding in his head.

When he gets to the car, Jackson is awake but not alert. Stiles gets a little lightheaded when he realizes why. His legs looked pinned in and unharmed, but the major problem is that there is a piece of door lodged in his abdomen. Stiles knows better than to try to open the door or remove the metal. Instead, he leans into the partially busted window and tries to help Jackson put pressure around the wound to stop the bleeding.

“Jackson, stay with me.”

He barely responds to his name. Stiles pushes against his wound harder. Jackson sucks in a sharp breath, but his eyes focus on Stiles.

“Put pressure where my hand is.”

Jackson does, but he starts to drift off as soon as Stiles eases up. Stiles pushes down hard around the wound again. 

“Stay with me, you asshole.”

Jackson barely has the energy for a smirk. Stiles digs his phone out of his pocket with some difficulty. His finger hovers over two names. When he looks back up at Jackson, he doesn’t think he has much choice. He dials. He gives the dispatcher that answers all the details she needs, even the color of the truck that hit them and the license plate. He hangs up when he hears that she is dispatching units even though he knows he shouldn’t. Then he hits the second number on his speed dial. His dad will understand, at least Stiles hopes he will.

“Stiles?”

Stiles leans into the ruined door of Jackson’s car. His heartbeat must give him away because Derek calls his name again, and this time it is laced with the Alpha’s power.

“Stiles, what happened?”

“There was a wreck. I’m okay, but Jackson isn’t,” Stiles takes a breath and fights against the burn of tears in his eyes, “Derek, I don’t think, Jackson-”

Derek’s voice is calm, but Stiles can hear the Camaro’s engine in the background.

“Stiles, where are you?”

Stiles has to snap Jackson back again. He can feel warm blood pooling around his fingers.

“Intersection of Barrow and Liberty. You have to get here before the ambulance, Derek.”

“I will. Keep Jackson awake. Keep talking to me.”

Stiles doesn't argue. Derek is his only anchor right now. He keeps putting pressure on the wound, even if Jackson’s eyes roll back a little, and he tells Derek what happened. It feels like forever before Stiles hears the Camaro screening to a halt close to them. He turns to find Derek running toward him with Alpha red eyes. Derek tries to take his arm, probably to drain his pain, but Stiles shakes his head.

“I’m okay.”

Derek checks Stiles over anyway. His nose flares and zeros in somewhere over Stiles’ shoulder, where a piece of the truck is managed in the Porsche's wheelwell. They don’t have time for Derek to go gallivanting off to catch the other driver. Jackson doesn’t have time. 

“Jackson. Help Jackson.”

Derek carefully steps up next to Stiles to take his place. Stiles pulls his hand away from Jackson as soon as Derek's hands on on the wound. Stiles doesn’t look down at his hand at all, afraid of what he’ll see. His adrenaline fails him as Derek starts to talk to Jackson in low, calm tones. Stiles can’t make out what they are saying, but he already knows what Derek is offering. Stiles sinks to the ground close to the car and cradles his arm to his chest while he breathes past the pain.

Derek settles somewhere next to him, and suddenly, the pain in his arm is dull and his head isn’t pounding to the rhythm of his heart so loudly.

“Did it take?”

Derek nods and looks over his right arm where the glass from the window bit into his skin and tore it open.

“The bleeding is slowing, but he’s lost a lot of blood. Too much for a human.”

Stiles knows about the blood loss. He felt is flowing between the fingers of his right hand. Derek tries to look at his left arm, but Derek is distracted. He tilts his head and tenses next to Stiles.

“Sirens are a few blocks away.”

Stiles can feel a panic attack building his chest when he thinks about his dad and what would have happened if he would have gone first. Derek rests a hand on the back of Stiles' neck and makes him focus, distracts him from letting the panic take over.

“What’s our plan? Even your dad can’t explain away the blood loss and the fact that Jackson is going to be perfectly fine in 24 hours.”

Stiles focuses on Derek’s hand and Derek’s voice. Both help ground him. He takes even breaths and thinks.

“Dad’s not going to be able to control the scene because of me. He’ll call Parrish in to take it over. He’ll cover for us.”

Derek nods and pulls more of Stiles’ pain when the pounding starts up again. It helps to ease the panic too.

“I could claw the wound open. He’d heal a lot slower.”

Stiles doesn’t think Jackson would enjoy that or the scar he’d probably get from it.

“Fuck that,” comes Jackson’s very shaky, but very alive voice.

Stiles sags in relief into Derek’s side. Derek misunderstands and drains him again. Stiles really doesn’t care about correcting him because his head and arm are starting to really hurt without the adrenaline now.

“Stiles, the ambulance is almost here, and I can’t do this without you,” Derek urges gently.

Stiles nods, regrets it, and thinks. He had been toying with an idea of trying to get Deaton to make him something that slowed down a werewolf’s healing. Scott had almost gotten busted by his mom so many times after the AgX incident. He had a really rough recipe for it on his computer.

“Deaton could probably make something to slow his healing down. I have the start of something on my laptop…”

Derek nods and gives him one last squeeze to the neck before standing and moving out of the way. He thinks he sees Derek eyes flare red again, and Stiles brain panics a little bit because of course this is a perfect time for some kind of supernatural shenanigan to start, but he notices the cruiser's lights reflecting on the metal of the Porsche. Then his dad is on his knees in front of him in the next breath, looking him over, hugging him, telling him that he can’t live without Stiles, that it was a stupidly brave thing to do, and that he loves him. Stiles accepts the hug even if it hurts because he’s okay. He’s okay, and his dad is here. And Derek came in time, and Jackson is going to be okay if not a little furry once a month. He only let’s go of the hand he has clamped on his dad’s jacket because the paramedics are here to take him and Jackson to the hospital.

They take Jackson first at Stiles’ insistence though his dad is already moving out of the way as the second set of paramedics start to evaluate him. He hisses when they gently assess his arm. He can feel Derek’s solid presence at his back. Stiles answers the questions the paramedics ask him, but it’s hard to focus on the questions if he’s straining to hear the quiet conversation his dad and Derek are having behind him. Stiles eventually gives up as the paramedics get him secured to a gurney and start rolling him away.

“Derek?”

He’s not even fully loaded into the ambulance yet when he sees the black leather in the corner of his eye and feels a hand over his. He latches onto it. He fucking hates hospitals.

“Your dad is going to meet us at the hospital once he hands over the scene to another deputy.”

He tries to nod, but the neck brace kind of gets in the way. When he goes to speak, the paramedic interrupts to ask even more questions. Derek starts answering a few for him, and he’s grateful because his head hurts and everything is too bright. Stiles doesn’t regret what he did, and he prays that neither will Jackson.

* * *

Derek watches as the Sheriff gathers his son in a tight hug and tries to focus on the smell of worry and fear and relief coming off the man. It’s better than the small about of blood that he can smell that doesn’t belong to either Stiles or Jackson. The gut wrenching fear he felt when he first heard Stiles frantic heartbeat over his phone is nearly gone, and he’s finding it hard not to follow the trail the hit and run driver left behind. Derek is having trouble reigning the wolf back. It wants him to track the man down and rip his throat out, rip him to pieces, rip the pieces to pieces. He wants to find the person that hurt Stiles and Jackson, that almost took away his pack, and he wants to hurt him.

Instead of giving into the anger, he focuses on Stiles as he lets the paramedic look at his injuries. He nearly growls at them when Stiles hisses in pain when they prod at his arm. Derek changes tactics and pulls on the slowly strengthen bond that he has with Jackson. He’s still in pain, but he’s not going to die. He is highly annoyed at the paramedic prodding at him. It’s strange that he feels the connection with Jackson so quickly, even with Boyd, Erica, and Isaac, it had taken nearly a full day before it settled.

But the only thing that Derek can think of is if he had gotten there any later, Jackson would have been beyond the bite’s ability to heal. If Stiles hadn’t let Jackson go first... he can’t even think about it. The fear he feels deep in his gut keeps him sane, so does the Sheriff.

“They are both going to be okay, Derek.”

Derek shakes his head. He knows they will. He’s going to make sure of it.

“I offered the bite to Jackson. He’s a wolf now, and he’s going to heal like one if we don’t get Deaton to make something to slow down our healing powers. Stiles has something in the works on his laptop.”

The Sheriff nods as he watches the paramedics take Stiles’ vitals.

“How much time will he have?”

Derek knows the shrugs doesn’t help, but he doesn’t like lying to John.

“The bite is fresh, but we’re lucky it started to take so quickly. It stopped the bleeding, but he’s lost too much from just a deep scratch.”

The Sheriff nods and cuts his eyes to the Porsche.

“Those cars have all computerized dashboards. Sometimes they short circuit after the fact.”

He pulls some comfort from John’s calm voice and the fact that he’s not alone in this. 

“Stiles was so calm. He told me where they were and what happened. He even gave me a description of the truck. He got his freaking license plate. It wasn’t until after I got here, after he made me go to Jackson first, that he let himself start to panic. He was hurting and scared, and he still figured out a plan better than the one I had.”

Derek’s eyes trail back to where the hit and run driver left a piece of his bumper behind. He swallows hard.

“If something had happened to him...”

The Sheriff’s hand wraps around the back of his neck just as Derek had done to Stiles minutes ago and squeezes gently. The tension in Derek’s shoulders loosens at the touch.

“I know, son. I know.”

The Sheriff looks just as shaken as Derek is. That’s when the both hear it. Stiles’ tired voice calling his name. The Sheriff pushes him toward the ambulance.

“You go with Stiles. I have to stay until Parrish gest here to take over the scene. I’ll be right behind you.”

Derek hesitates for a second, but the determined look on John’s face has him jogging over to the ambulance and climbing in. Without thought, Derek takes Stiles hand. He bears down on it hard. He hasn’t forgotten that Stiles hates hospitals as much as he does. It looks like everything is catching up to Stiles, so he fields some of the questions that the paramedic asks.

“What is your relationship to Stiles, sir?”

Derek has to bite back the words that wants to roll from his tongue so easily. No one outside of pack will understand what it means to Derek. Instead, he goes for a measure of the truth.

“He’s my best friend.”

The ambulance ride isn’t as short as Derek would have liked, not with Stiles looking so drawn out and hurting. The paramedics pass Stiles off to the ER nurses as soon as they get to the hospital, and Derek sighs in relief at the sight of Melissa. She spares him a quick, tight hug, but then she’s all back to business.

“We’re going to take him for a CAT Scan and x-rays. Jackson is already there, but it looks like he hasn’t suffered any internal bleeding or organ damage.”

She levels Derek with a knowing look.

“He’s damn lucky Stiles was there.”

He nods and follows as she walks briskly behind Stiles’ gurney. Derek doesn’t think Beacon Hills has a lot of redeeming qualities, but at least they had a decent hospital that won’t sit Stiles in an ER triage room to wait with the pain until someone can see him. Before they walk through the double doors that he knows he can’t go past, Melissa turns to him again.

“Jackson’s parents were contacted, but they won’t be in until tomorrow afternoon. They were in New York for work. Is he going to be okay?”

This time, Derek wraps her in a tight hug.

“We’ve got him.”

She wastes no more time talking to him. She follows the bed beyond the doors. Derek pulls out his phone as he turns away. He’s going to make sure of it.

* * *

Stiles gingerly lifts himself out of the hospital bed the second the orderly leaves the room. He’s got a concussion from the whiplash, and he’s fracture his left arm pretty badly. He knows he shouldn’t be up just yet, but he needs to ward the room. It’s more precaution than anything else, but Stiles has learned to appreciate his hypervigilance and general mistrust of people outside of his social circle. He grabs the IV stand and moves to the door as quickly as the dizziness lets him.

He dips his fingers in the cup of water left on his bedside tray and draws the ward he can clearly see in his mind’s eye. He’s drawn it in all the packs’ homes including his own and the station. Hell, he carved it into the baseboards and entryways of Derek’s house at different points during the renovation. He’d also tossed in a few fireproofing wards too. He’s pretty sure Derek knows about them. Drawing a ward in water is temporary. Carving a ward is permanent and kind of noticeable especially if it smells like Stiles.

He blows on the ward to dry it, and slowly makes his way back to his bed. He ignores the eyes he’s felt on him since he’d been wheeled in. He arranges himself in bed and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long before he hears Jackson’s voice.

“You reek.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and regrets it instantly. He’s not sure why he thought sharing a semi-private room with Jackson was a good idea. He’s pack now, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still an asshole.

“Yeah, well. Get a big whiff. It’ll keep you calm.”

Jackson looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Hell, Stiles kind of feels like he did. This concussion is kicking his ass. He is so getting headrests put in his baby this time around, dwindling savings account be damned. He winces internally and tries not to think how badly he’s damaged his Jeep again.

“It's a wolf thing, man. I'll explain later when I'm not concussed. Just bask in my musk.”

He groans as he lifts his soft casted arm on his thigh. It’s a bad fracture, and it is going to take a while to heal. He’s going to get a hard cast put on before he leaves, hopefully tomorrow.

“Screw you, Stilinski,” Jackson sneers as he tries to settle more comfortably against his pillows.

Stiles sneers right back.

“Oh, I can’t wait until I can pull rank on your ass.”

“Big talk for someone in a hospital bed, son.”

Stiles groans at his dad, but it is halfhearted. From the smirk on the Sherriff’s face, he knows it is. He rests a gentle hand against Stiles’ face, and Stiles leans into it.

“You scared the hell out of me, kid.”

He smiles up at his dad.

“I scared the hell out of me too.”

He dad turns to Jackson and gives him a smile.

“How are you feeling, Jackson?”

Stiles is expecting a biting answer and a condescending tone. His dad doesn’t get either; he gets quiet honesty.

“Lucky that Stiles was there.”

His dad squeezes Stiles’ good arm as he nods at the other boy.

“And how about the other thing?”

Jackson looks down at his lap and shrugs.

“Good, I guess.”

“The bite is taking very well. No need to worry, dear.”

Stiles peers around his dad to see Miss Josephine walking into the room on Derek’s arm. Jackson is eyeing the old lady like she’s crazy, but that just makes her smile wider at him. She pats at Derek’s arm gently before letting it go and making her way over to Stiles and his dad. She shoos his father out of the way to look at Stiles. He goes, but not after pressing a kiss to her cheek. Stiles swears that she’s got everyone in town wrapped around her finger. Damn her delicious baked goods! Before he knows it, she’s resting a gentle, old hand against his face as she looks him over.

“I’m glad to see our little spark wasn’t snuffed out."

Stiles huffs at her, but brightens when she motions Derek over. He’d been carrying a large paper bag from her café. She pulls out a large container of dried… leaves. She laughs at his skeptical face.

“It’s a tea blend of my own making.”

She shakes it a little and places it on his table.

“It tastes worse than bayou water, but it will patch you up twice as fast. One cup a day after you’ve been released.”

She pulls out a loaf wrapped in waxed paper.

“And this is to get the taste out of your mouth.”

She might be a bit of an eccentric old lady, but she likes the pack and is fond of Derek. They can do worse than having her as their ally. And, minus the incident with the nudity, she hadn’t set off any of Stiles’ senses of doom, foreboding, or terror. Plus, she just gave him a free lemon loaf.

“Now,” she says clapping her hands together at turning toward Jackson with a smile, “let’s take a look at you, dear.”

Jackson’s eyes flash blue, and isn’t that interesting, as he looks between her and a calm Derek. Her smile turns wry as she approaches the bed without caution to the newly bitten werewolf.

“I won’t bite, much.”

Jackson doesn’t look relieved. Stiles takes pity on him.

“She’s got something that is going to slow your healing down, so you don’t get outed as big, bad, and furry.” 

With that, Derek hands her a small vial from the bag. It’s a shockingly bright orange color. When she shakes it, it turns a deep purple. Jackson looks at the vial then at her.

“What are you?”

She pats at his knee as she settles on the edge of his bed.

“Back home they called me a traiteur, a Cajun healer. In other parts of the world, they call me a hedge witch. But you may call me Miss Josephine.”

She shows him the vial.

“Alan needed a few of my herbs, so I helped him whip it up. I assure you that it’s completely safe though the strain of wolfsbane we used will slow down all of your healing until it works its way through your system fully. You will need to be careful for the next two weeks.”

She places the vial in Jackson’s hand but refuses to let it go until he looks back at her and nods. She pats as his hand and smiles.

“Bottoms up.”

To his credit, Jackson does look back to Derek for reassurance. Derek nods and moves closer to his bed. When Jackson opens the vial, Derek’s nose wrinkles.

“Lavender?”

Miss Josephine nods.

“To counteract the wolfsbane from burning his throat and stomach,” she waves a hand at Jackson, “Go ahead, dear.”

Jackson downs the vial as quick as he can. He coughs roughly after but seems completely okay.

“Well that was all very anticlimactic.”

Derek and his dad roll their eyes at Stiles the exact same time. Miss Josephine just laughs and sets herself on her feet.

“Just wait until you try your tea.”

Stiles groans and groans again when his headache starts to pick back up. Miss Josephine does a dainty little bow to Derek before she starts to make her way toward the door. Both Derek and John move to walk her out, but she waves them both off.

“I’ll see my own way out. Besides, nobody is going to mess with a little old lady.”

Then her soft smile turns a little manic. Stiles should be more concerned, but the painkillers are finally kicking in and his judgement is a little skewed.

“But I would like to see them try.”

Miss Josephine pauses at the door and lays a weathered hand just below the ward Stiles drew. She throws a respectful nod over her shoulder at him before she leaves the room. He grins.

“Stiles.”

Derek’s disappointed voice and his dad’s disappointed face are lethal combo. It almost makes him feels bad. Almost.

“It’s like you don’t even know me.”

He pauses then squints at his dad. He hadn’t been at the scene much longer than to give it over to Parrish (and fill him in on their furry little secret), so Stiles isn’t expecting any kind of answers yet, but…

“Did the body shop say anything about the damage to Roscoe when they picked him up?”

The Sheriff sighs. Stiles knows this sigh proceeds his dad’s _Let’s get you a new, safer car. I’ll even cosign it for you_ talk. Stiles cuts him off with a wave of his IV’d hand. His dad’s eyes focus on that and the now cleaned and bandaged scrapes on his arm from the Porsche’s broken window.

“I’m not giving up on Roscoe just yet, but maybe this time I’ll put in seats with actual head rests.”

His dad laughs quietly under his breath but gently ruffles Stiles hair.

“I was kind of more concerned that my kid was in the back of an ambulance headed to the hospital than a car that can be replaced.”

Stiles holds up a finger.

“That can be _fixed_.”

John holds up his hands, not willing to argue right now, and starts to move the bed side chair closer to his son’s bed. Stiles catches his hand before he sits down and tugs to get his attention.

“Dad, it’s nearly midnight, and you’re not going to get any sleep in these crappy chairs especially if I have to get woken up every hour.”

Stiles is grateful that his dad doesn’t even try to argue. He doesn’t really have the capacity to talk him into going home and getting some actual sleep. Which sounds really nice to Stiles now that everything is taken care of.

“Besides, Derek is staying. He’ll take care of me, and his back magically heals.”

John smiles at him while he runs a hand through Stiles’ hair as he looks up to watch Derek enter the room again. He nods.

“Okay, kiddo. I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll call the shop and ask about Roscoe too.”

Stiles hugs his dad as best as he can and smiles when his dad does the same to Derek. Derek tucks his chin into the Sheriff’s shoulder and returns the hug tightly.

“I’ll look after him and Jackson.”

Jackson snorts. John snorts right back, but he does rest a hand over Jackson’s ankle to give it a gentle squeeze as he leaves.

“Kid, you haven’t even met the rest of the pack yet. You all need looking after.”

Jackson blinks after the now empty doorway. He looks to Stiles.

“I didn’t really think about that.”

Stiles snorts and rolls over in his hospital bed. He pulls his covers up to his ears and ignores everything that isn’t the inside of his eyelids. That’s Derek’s problem.

* * *

Stiles gets woken up every hour or so. Sometimes it’s by his nurse, sometimes it’s by Derek. He falls back asleep pretty easily because the concussion is making him tired, and he had just been in a somewhat traumatic experience. He answers all his nurses’ questions, and Melissa must have told her that she knew him because Mrs. Pam asks him some pretty interesting questions like how did the dining room table really catch on fire in ’08. Derek just asks him the basics like what he ate for lunch yesterday and the year. It’s around five in the morning when Stiles wakes up on his own to Derek talking quietly to Jackson.

“I want to hug him. It’s weird.”

There is a calm silence between them as Derek takes the time to think about his answer. This Derek is worlds different than the one who tried to explain lycanthropy to Scott as _the bite is a gift_ and _we’re brothers now_.

“It’s your instincts. You were just turned, he’s the only pack that you’ve met outside of me and John. Besides, he’s hurt, and he’s-”

Stiles cuts Derek off.

“Awesome. You want to hug me because I’m awesome.”

He can hear Jackson’s obnoxious huffing before he feels Derek hand on his forehead.

“How are you feeling?”

He doesn’t try to shake off the hand, but he does open his eyes.

“Like I hit a car.”

Derek smiles fondly at him but motions at the call button. Stiles shakes his head. He can wait a few more hours to take his next does of pain meds.

“Did you hear from my dad?”

Derek sits in the chair next to his bed.

“Yeah. Parrish said the Porsche caught fire right before back up got there. Looks like internal wire damage.”

Stiles grimaces. Jackson shrugs. It’s not like his parents can’t afford to get him a new car.

“They also caught the guy that hit Jackson. Dark grey 2007 Chevy Silverado. They were lucky you got the plates.”

Stiles rubs a hand over his eyes. It feels like he slept forever and like he didn’t sleep at all at the same time.

“Let me guess, he has a whole slew of DUI’s.”

Derek nods.

“Parrish is handling the accident and the arrest. He’ll be by to get both of your statements before you are released this afternoon.”

Which Stiles hopes Jackson’s parents will actually be there for. Stiles knows that Jackson doesn’t have the best relationship with his parents, and Stiles knows how work can come between you and your parents, but it sucks that Jackson doesn’t have anyone to rely on when something like this happens. Being pack will be good for him, but will he be good for the pack? Derek snaps him back to reality with a different question.

“Where were you last Saturday?

Derek knows exactly where Stiles was. Refusing to get out of the Camaro in a _Rooms to Go_ parking lot. The pack deserved better than particle board furniture. Hale House deserved better. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t notice the Lowes right next door at first. He’s not about to tell Jackson that. Hell no.

“Come on, dude. I don’t have brain damage.”

“That could be argued.”

Stiles flips Jackson off with his good hand. Derek stands and steps between them before it gets any further. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“How do you spell your name?”

He narrows his eyes at Derek.

“Oh, fuck you, furball.”

Derek just laughs and helps him settle back into the bed. Someone had gotten him another blanket sometime during the night. Stiles is too tired to make a fuss over it. Turns out hitting a car is just as painful as getting hit by one. He still doesn’t regret doing it. At least he hopes he won’t.

* * *

Stiles pulls up to school just as the last dismissal bell rings. He only rolls down the window when he spots Jackson. He ducks his head so Jackson can see that it’s him. 

“Get in loser. We’re going shopping.”

The bitchface he receives from Jackson is pretty good. Stiles’ is better.

“Dude, don’t make me make a scene. You know I will.”

Jackson thinks about it for a second before he sighs and slings his bag off of his shoulder as he reaches for the door. Stiles waits long enough for him to put his seatbelt on before maneuvering the car out of the school’s driveway and parking lot.

“Does Derek know you stole his car?”

Stiles spares him a glare as he drives.

“He gave me the keys because my jeep is in the shop after I used it as a battering ram.”

Jackson scowls but doesn’t say anything until they hit Route 40.

“Where are we even going?”

Stiles lifts his hand off the steering wheel long enough to flash his signet ring in Jackson’s face.

“To your first official pack meeting.”

Stiles immediately checks to make sure that the doors are locked so Jackson can’t bolt. Jackson’s glaring at him. Stiles glares right back.

“Like you would have come if we asked.”

Jackson shrugs. Stiles shrugs right back.

“Everyone else is meeting us there?”

Stiles laughs.

“They’re already there. Derek purposely let the cat out of the bag early.”

At Jackson’s raised brows, Stiles explains.

“Scott was the only one that knew about you because of his mom and me. The others… there were mixed reactions. It was either Derek or I that was coming get you. We drew straws.” 

Jackson snorts, “lucky you.”

Stiles grins at him.

“Oh, I got the short straw.”

Jackson flips him off but falls silent the rest of the way to the Hale House. He sits up straighter in his seat as the house comes into view. There is still scaffolding around most of the outside, but the inside is pretty much done except for some major decorating. Derek is proud of it, and Stiles doesn’t blame him. It’s beautiful again. Except for the lights flickering in quick succession. If Stiles had to guess, Lydia still hasn’t come around to the idea of Jackson being in their pack or being a wolf.

On a hunch, Stiles lifts the console of the Camaro and lifts out his bottle of pain medication that had gone missing earlier that afternoon after he left school early. He had taken an extra dose at lunch because he was hurting from pushing himself too far the day before. Somebody is worried that he’s going to become addicted or something, the doofus. Stiles shakes the orange bottle in Jackson’s face to pull his attention away from the house and sudden light show. He hasn’t had enough training to hear what they’re saying and the ones with enough training are inside having a hissy fit and are too preoccupied to hear.

“Take out two of these for me, will you? I’ve already got a blinding headache as it is.”

Jackson opens his mouth, catches a glimpse of his cast, and shakes two out into Stiles’ hand. Stiles swallows them dry and then looks up at the house.

“Once more into the fray I go.”

Jackson rolls his eyes, but the joke's on him because he doesn’t move until Stiles opens his door for him.

“My lady,” he bows slightly.

Jackson looks too nervous to make a retort. He even follows Stiles into the house without a complaint. Stiles takes some mercy on him as he toes off his sneakers in the entryway.

“Pack meetings don’t usually have a set agenda or anything, but this one is kind of you specific.”

Jackson just drops his boots by the door and nods. Stiles rests his hand on the door frame, takes a breath, and opens the sliding doors fully.

Derek’s eyes find his immediately. He probably knows about the pills he took in the car. Stiles motions for Jackson to take one end of the couch Derek’s on while he goes to take up his seat on the other side again.

“Jackson, everyone. Everyone, Jackson.”

Jackson manages to roll his eyes at Stiles. Stiles forces a grim smile on his face and asks the million dollar question.

“So, what are we talking about?”

Which is the wrong thing to say if Derek’s immediate reaction is to run a hand over his face. Lydia smiles primly at him and tilts her head.

“Oh, you know. How you and Derek made Jackson pack without any input from us.”

“You know why,” Derek replies calmly which only makes Lydia glare harder. Stiles squares his shoulder and refuses to be quelled by the livid look in her eyes.

“Jackson would be dead if I didn’t call Derek. He’d be dead if he didn’t accept the bite.”

Lydia folds her hands in her lap, because arm crossing is too gauche for Lydia Martin, and raises a perfectly arched brow.

“He’d be dead if his body rejected the bite too. You should have waited for the ambulance.”

Stiles refuses to look away from her when he tilts his head towards his best friend.

“Scott?”

Scott turns in his seat to face Lydia.

“My mom said that he would have coded from blood loss on the way to the hospital. If he didn’t accept the bite…”

Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence. Allison takes his hand and twines their fingers together. Erica shrugs from her spot between Boyd and Isaac on the other couch across from them.

“He didn’t have much of a choice, but at least he had one.”

She cleans her nails under Lydia’s hot glare. Scott leans forward into Lydia’s space to make her look at him. He doesn’t flinch at her look. Instead, he takes her hand gently.

“Lydia, he did have a choice. You can’t be angry at anyone for giving him that.”

And that’s what she’s pissed about. She thinks they didn’t give Jackson a choice. And that is just completely shitty. Derek would never have bitten him if Jackson said no. But what Erica said was true. It wasn’t a forced choice, but Jackson’s options were limited. He could have waited for the ambulance, and he might have made it. Might being the key word. But if Stiles would have just gone first, Jackson wouldn’t have had to make the choice at all.

“If you want to be angry at anyone, it should be me, Lydia.”

“Stiles,” Derek warns.

Stiles shakes his head.

“No, Derek. She needs to know. They all need to know.”

He takes a breath and feels the weight of the entire pack’s eyes on him.

“What Derek isn’t telling you is that I was supposed to go first at the intersection. I waved Jackson through because I felt like being nice. It should have been me that got hit.”

The entire room goes silent. Derek rests one hand on his knee and squeezes. Lydia drops her eyes to her lap. And Stiles hates what he has to say next.

“He would have died if I hadn’t called Derek.”

She turns back to him with a furious glare.

“Or he could have survived if you would have just waited for the ambulance. Or if you would have gone first, the car would have speed through the intersection and missed both of you. Or if you-”

Stiles slams his good hand on the table. Lydia’s voice fails as she flinches and even a few of the wolves startle. Stiles regrets the violence, but he needs her to understand even if she doesn’t want to.

“Lydia, you can rattle off all the variables you want. But you weren’t there. You didn’t feel his blood on your hands. He was going to die.”

She deflates at his words. Scott quietly pulls her into his side. Allison takes her hand now too. Everyone is startled when Jackson finally speaks. His voice is calm and even. He looks Lydia in the eye for the first time since she came back.

“I was dying, Lydia.”

She flinches and pushes even further into Scott’s side. Jackson leans forward, like he’s going to reach out and touch her, but stops himself.

“Derek offered me the bite, and I took it,” then in a quieter voice he adds, “It’s what I wanted anyway.”

Suddenly, Stiles brain makes a connection that has been bothering him for a while. Something Peter said about a pack can never be just two people.

“Peter offered you the bite too, didn’t he?”

Jackson nods, shoulders stiff. Stiles feels anger churn in his stomach at the memory of Peter doing the same to him.

“I fucking hate that guy.”

Nearly everyone in the room nods their head in agreement. Stiles nudges Derek’s knee with his cast.

“Sorry, dude.”

Derek shrugs and grabs his arm gently and wraps his hand around his elbow and starts to slowly pull his pain. Stiles sinks further into the couch at the sudden lack of pain. He's just so tired, tired of the same arguments repeating and repeating.

“I vote that Jackson is pack.”

Derek sits next to Stiles and watches as all of the pack votes with nods, yes’s, and a few friendly shoulder punches to Jackson himself.

“Jackson is pack.”

Derek makes sure to meet Lydia’s eyes until she nods. He stands signaling the end of the meeting.

“Wolves with me. We are working on our anchors and meditating,” he levels them with a warning glare, “all of us.”

He waits until they nod, even if it’s reluctantly, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder to the back door. He motions to Allison as Scott and the others trail out.

“Weapons and defense training with Lydia.”

She gives him a salute and a smile. Lydia rolls her eyes but stands and follows Allison to the basement that Derek has turned into a gym after he had the contractor seal off most of the hidden tunnel entrances. There are only three left, and Stiles and Deaton both had warded them. Derek turns around to Stiles, but he’s already spreading out on the couch and hugging a throw pillow to his chest.

“And Stiles is taking a freaking nap.”

Derek tosses a blanket over his head. 

“And?”

Stiles grumbles but pulls the blanket down to his chest to give Derek sad, doe eyes. Derek just holds the look until Stiles rolls his eyes. It takes effort with the amount of pressure going on behind his lids. Concussion suck but...

“And Stiles is going to drink his disgusting tea when he wakes up.”

It is actually helping him heal faster. He’s barely had any body or neck pain from whiplash his first day home from the hospital, and while the headaches sucks, he isn’t having any difficulties thinking, isn’t having trouble falling asleep or waking up, and isn’t having any blurry vision. Hell, his arm doesn’t even hurt as much as he thinks it should.

Still, Stiles is glad for having only half days at school this week because of the headaches and the tiredness. The tea can’t heal him over night, as Miss Josephine reminded him when he called to ask how to brew it right (because how he did it can’t be right. It looked like liquefied mud.) It just speeds up the process. It just sucks drinking it because it really does taste like ditch water, and he accidentally ate all of the loaf in one sitting.

“If anybody wakes me up, I’m putting wolfsbane in their underwear drawer.”

Derek doesn’t call him out on the lie, but he does dim the lights and close the doors to the room before he leaves.

* * *

Stiles is late to their pack dinner by 15 minutes because the body shop had called for him to come down to see an estimate of repairs. From there he’d had the choice to bring it somewhere else or make a down payment to get the repairs started. Color him surprised when he walked in to see his jeep already on the rack and being worked on. He nearly fell over when the mechanic handed him the receipts marked _Paid in Full_ in a cheery red and a reminder that they’d call when Roscoe was ready to be picked up. 

He storms up to the table and to Derek. He slams the receipt on the table and points an accusing finger in his face. The little voice in the back of his brain is screaming not to antagonize Alpha werewolves, but it’s his conniving Alpha werewolf, so it can shut the hell up.

“I told you I would pay to fix Roscoe my damn self! I’m not a charity case, Derek!”

Derek lowers his glass of water and nods his head like Stiles is slow. Stiles pokes him in his stupid stubbled cheek. Derek lets him, and it makes Stiles ever angrier.

“I didn’t pay for it. I offered, you declined, and I dropped it like you asked me too.”

And Stiles, well he deflates at that. Derek did offer because he had more money than he knew what to do with (his words, not Stiles), but Stiles didn’t want Derek to think he had to fix everything for his pack just because he was their Alpha. That way led to really bad codependency issues.

“Then who…”

Stiles flips to the last page and shows Derek the simple X that was left where the signature of the payer should be. Derek takes the paper and lifts it to his nose. Stiles follow’s Derek’s eyes to the person he’s pinpointed as the signer. Jackson shifts uneasily under Derek and Stiles’ stare. It could also be from Erica poking him in the side with a very pleased grin on her face. Why anyone would willingly sit next to her is beyond Stiles.

“Jackson.”

Stiles has to sit down. So he does. Derek has to move further into the booth, so he won’t be sat on. It would be funny if Stiles wasn’t so shocked.

“Dude, that was easily a couple grand. I mean not that you couldn’t afford it, but why?”

Jackson shrugs and looks out the window without a care.

“Pack look after each other, right?”

Stiles smiles at the paperwork before he folds it up and tucks it into his pocket.

“Yeah, we do.”

The happy little moments last all of four seconds before Jackson opens his mouth again.

“I think we should make Danny pack because I already told him that I’m a werewolf.”

Everything goes silent at their table although Derek does snap his fork in half. Stiles grabs at his chest.

“Oh, thank god!”

Derek turns Alpha red eyes to Stiles.

“ _What_.”

Stiles shrugs.

“I was starting to wonder if the bite was turning him into some kind of Stepford wolf. I mean, I was starting to _like_ him.”

He shivers at the thought. Erica laughs at his antics.

“Screw you, Stilinski.”

Stiles flips Jackson off. Derek drops the broken fork to the table with a loud clang to get everyone’s attention.

“What the hell, Jackson?”

Derek nearly growls it out. Stiles smacks at his shoulder to remind him that they are in public at Hank’s. While Stiles might not mind Derek ripping Jackson’s head off, he minds that they’d be permanently banned from Hank’s Diner. Scott is already back to eating his burger and ignoring the problem at hand.

“Danny already knew. He told me that he prefers growling in the bedroom and not on the practice field when I got a little overwhelmed last month.”

Isaac chokes on his milkshake. Erin laughs like it’s the best thing she’s ever heard. Boyd just keeps on eating. Derek drops his head in his hands. Stiles pats at his back. He actually growls. Stiles smiles and keeps doing it. Allison gently clears her throat.

“I’m almost completely sure that he knew about werewolves before I did.”

Stiles thinks about it a second. How Danny had told Stiles that they can talk if he ever needed it because he had a lot on his plate…

“Yeah, he totally knows about werewolves, and probably other supernatural stuff. He wrote that paper about telluric currents for Harris’ research project.”

Because Derek is still hiding from his Alpha responsibilities, Stiles looks to his favorite strawberry blonde.

“Lydia?”

She dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin before she speaks.

“I've suspected he knew more than he let on for a while now. He'd bring a unique skill set with him to the pack. He is very good with computers and finding information that he should not be able to find.”

She spears a green bean on her fork with a grin. Boyd shrugs and finally voices his opinion.

“He's smart and nice enough. Sounds like he’d be a great addition to the pack.”

With the decision made, sans any input from their Alpha, the pack goes on with their meal. Derek groans into his hands now. Stiles snorts.

“You’re the one who started a pack full of teenagers, dude.”

The muffled voice reminds him not to call him dude. Stiles cheerily steals his Alpha’s fries while he’s distracted. The waitress hasn’t made it back to their table for him to order his regular cheeseburger and curly fries.

“So invite him to the pack meeting on Monday?”

Still not pulling his face away from his hands, Derek speaks.

“Yes.”

The smirk on Jackson’s face looks a lot more like a relieved smile. But Stiles isn’t going to point it out. (He’s also not going to point out how Jackson’s got the whole werewolf thing down pretty solid in a little more than a week because he has an anchor that’s spelled L-Y-D-I-A.) Instead, he leans closer to Derek and whispers low enough so only he can hear.

“You want me to wolfsbane his underwear drawer? Maybe his shampoo?”

Derek turns his head and slowly pulls his hand away from his face. Now at least he’s smiling a little.

“…No.”

Stiles approves of the slight hesitation in Derek’s answer, but shrugs. Not everyone is okay with petty revenge. He hands Derek his still functioning fork from his place setting.

“You okay with all this? With Danny becoming pack?”

Derek turns the fork over in his hands a few times before he pushes around the coleslaw on his plate.

“If he already knows like you all think he does, then it will be safer for him to be pack,” he shrugs, “I’ll offer him a place in the pack, but it’s up to him if he accepts it.”

If Danny doesn’t accept, it would be messy. But if he does, it would give Jackson an ally until he and Lydia work out whatever it is between them. Stiles can tell that it’s starting to wear on Allison and Scott and surprisingly Boyd acting as buffers between Lydia and Jackson all the time. Stiles is pulled from his own thoughts by Derek’s accusing voice.

“Did you eat some of my fries?”

Stiles shoves the handful he has in his mouth.  

“Nope!”

It comes out a little garbled, but Stiles thinks Derek understand him just fine. He always does. Derek narrows his eyes at him.

"You have to tell your dad about Danny."

Stiles shrugs.

"You have to tell Melissa."

Derek drops his face in his hands again. Stiles just grins and steals more of his fries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! This story is still alive! I have had huge issues with rewriting as in I've rewritten this three times. I mean completely rewritten it. There were different characters (Matt was supposed to come into play as a stalker and a real life monster to show how Beacon Hills isn't just all supernatural issues) involved in the conflict in this chapter. I toyed with Jackson leaving and Ethan and Aiden coming into town again. I wanted to bring in the new pack (aka Scott's pack). I just had a lot of plot bunnies to chase, so to speak.
> 
> But this is the final draft of chapter 25, and I think it builds up nicely to the climax in the final chapter (which is going to be so freaking long).

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place six months after the season 1 finale so technically this is divergent canon verging into AU territory. Expect some season 2 characters to crop up eventually, or maybe not at all. This is probably, maybe, most likely, going to be a long and drawn out fic where the build up to Sterek will be slow and blissfully painful. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll notice I don't have a beta, and that I never stick to any kind of update schedule. I apologize for what spills from my brain to my fingertips and makes its way onto the Internets.


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